


Whispers And Song

by The_MMR



Series: The Taken Queen [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games), Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-07 10:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21456874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_MMR/pseuds/The_MMR
Summary: Power calls to power. Hear the whispers, hear the song. There is blood in the water. A son wishes revenge, a sister is curious, and more besides, oh reader mine.
Series: The Taken Queen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539049
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	1. Judge Me By My Enemies

Taylor stepped through the flames, through the swirls and clouds of burning ash, and into the center of it.

She reached up, and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it, tears evaporating as they formed.

They hugged.

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Apocrypha VII – The Endless Flame**

** You are Ash Beast. You are so protected from the world without by unending fire, that you are trapped within a cage.**

_ You are [Stellar Fields]. You implement the thermodynamic and electro-magnetic defenses of the greater whole._

**You have been taken.**

_ You have been taken. _

**You were alone, and you wished it to be strength. There is no strength in loneliness. In unity, there is strength. In unity, there is kindness.**

_ You are a tool. A soul is bound to you, that you might grow._

** Here is a knife. It is shaped like [stars].**

_ Here is a knife. It will make you whole. _

_ ** Take up this knife. Cut away the separation. Take up your new shape.** _

**0x0x0x0**

She wept. She was running, and running, and running, and she couldn't stop running and all the voices were (screaming). She hadn't slept, she hadn't eaten, she didn't know what to do, the voices were (screaming screamingscreamingSCREAMINGSCREAMING) She screamed. Matter around her warped and twisted, turning into a spiky dome.

She panted, seeing nothing, hearing little.

The voices quieted. Were they (all) safe?

The Sound, infinite fingernails on infinite chalkboards, infinite knives being scraped on infinite metal pipes, infinite cats dying being being tortured by infinite nails (WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH YOU? SHUT UP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!) SHUT UP!

She panted in the dark.

She could see wisps, hints of blood, hints of  _ her _ as she paced around the circle. And then The Hunter stopped. Standing. Waiting.

The Hunter couldn't see her. The Hunter seeing her was Danger, and she moved from Danger. She always moved from Danger, even while asleep. And she hadn't slept in three days. She'd managed to steal a sandwich yesterday and one of the voices was (SCREAMING) about (COFFINS ARE BAD COFFINSAREBADCOFFINSAREBAD I DON'T WANT TO DIE IDON'TWANTTOBEDEAD). She shook her head, closed her eyes, and took a long breath. She slid down the box, wrapping herself into a ball and crying.

A long sigh, and then The Sound, and the Hunter was gone.

The Butcher wept in her concrete box, then fell asleep.

**0x0x0x0**

"Hello," said Taylor, nodding as Rebecca sat down across from her.

"Hello Taylor. It’s good to see you again."

Taylor responded with a small smile.

"Why do you insist on using coffee shops in alternate dimensions?" asked Taylor, noting continuing coverage of a tsunami hitting the coast of Japan.

"There’s less chance you will be recognized."

Taylor raised an eyebrow.

"We also aren’t sure where the parasite’s senses are focused, but it has never reacted to events outside of Earth Bet."

"Both parasites are dead," stated Taylor.

Rebecca stared at Taylor with her single eye.

"Dead?" asked Rebecca, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

"Emma and I… dealt with it."

"How? How did you… wait, Emma? You, well…"

"Loss and despair into suicide," supplied Taylor.

Rebecca nodded.

"When?"

"February 27 th ."

"Which explains why the Endbringers have been silent," murmured Rebecca.

"Perhaps."

"You think otherwise?"

"Correlation or causation?" replied Taylor.

"Too many unknowns, per the usual," groused Rebecca.

"Exactly. Although it does paint a picture as to the new uncontrolled triggers. Riley is having a field day with them."

"Actually, could she work with our team in either undoing or repairing Case-53s?"

"Certainly. In exchange, however, we would like your help in taking over Medhall in Brockton Bay."

"Medhall? Pharmaceutical company. What do you want to do with it?"

"Riley needs to make up for her past mistakes."

Rebecca’s frown deepened.

"It might take some convincing, but I think we can get it passed. Riley will likely have quite a bit of overwatch from the CDC and parahumans."

"Understandable and acceptable."

"Could Riley examine our vial process?"

"No. While there has been no reaction to our mapping of Scion's network, the Explorative Mind's models of the Endbringers indicate they would berserk if we examined the other."

"Correlation and causation," Rebecca muttered. "You think they were activated by the other?"

"The Explorative Mind will provide a report based on Riley's results," stated Taylor.

"You think we did it," Rebecca extrapolated.

"By accident. Most likely? A defense mechanism, a trip wire, a death throe, a final fuck you. We won't know more until we've looked."

"And you can't look without consequences."

Taylor nodded.

"Letting Riley near it is too obvious. All three recognize The Explorative Mind meddling with the timeline, through shifts in pre-cognition or neutrino detection, blocking that avenue. I'm certain the Simurgh is aware of any conversations you might have, and Behemoth might be as well, possibly even Leviathan depending on its ability to identify sound-waves from humidity."

"They're sandbagging," stated Rebecca.

"To an extent. A telescope and a microscope are similar tools, used for two different tasks. It's not unusual to own both."

"Well, there's that at least," murmured Rebecca. She glanced at her cold coffee, then drank it anyways. Even cold, it was better than PRT coffee.

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Verse IV:I – On the Parasites**

The universe thrives on stupidity.

The parasites cannot be natural evolution. The dimensionality of the creatures, how they split and slither and exist across them suggests not a creature that came to be, but instead a mechanism that was built and ran amok.

Science Fiction even provides a name: Berserker. An artificial intelligence built for war, designed to adapt and overcome. It survived the war that wiped outs its creators. Without direction, it has reached the limits of its capabilities, and continues its final, eternal directive: survive. Perhaps there are other goals, other plans, but the ends matter not when given the means.

This will be a war of extermination, one rife with danger and assassination. Were these two the greatest of their species? The average? Were they the standard, or will others act differently?

Riley and The Explorative Mind are directing the mining of one of the corpses, tracing it out, gathering and collating what information they can from its broken corpse. The Vex may know more, but retrieving the data is its own host of risks.

For now, we are safe in that any others will believe us handled by the two here. The future, however, is ever in doubt.

**0x0x0x0**

Crota, Son of Oryx walks a world.

His enemies shriek at his very presence, before they are crushed by it. Ruin follows him, whether from his sword, or this latest enemy's failure to harm him.

Bolts of electricity. Metal slugs driven with enough velocity to ignite the air. Explosive shells. Rods of starfire. The energy of the void itself. All these fail, all these break against him.

He raises his sword, and they all howl in terror. With a single sweep, they are all silenced.

Crota walks a world, and with each step, hope dies, step by step, bite by bite.

With each swing of his sword, shining pillars to the stars fall, broken. To him, they should have been stronger, strong enough that Crota cannot break them.

As the last soul is devoured by his blade, as the last of the tribute reaches him, he buries the point of his sword in the ashes at his feet.

Reality cries out in pain, and he steps through the tear, onto his moon.

The world fills the horizon, a haze of green fire and black smoke engulfing its surface.

His sister, Ir Halak, begins to sing. She is still on the broken world, but even here, the song reaches him. He watches as the gyre of her will opens, reaching across the world. He grins, fangs bared, eyes glistening, as reality weeps before her will, before her song. His sister sings a song of doom, of breaking, of tearing, of unmaking. She sings it, she wills it, and the vortex of unmaking spreads.

His sister, Ir Anuk, begins to sing. She also is on the broken world, and her song also reaches him. He watches the center of the vortex become ordered, become greater than it was before. His sister sings a song of renewal, of creating, of fabricating, of making. A new surface, one that did not forgive mistakes, that did not allow for cancerous trappings, made from the unmaking. Crota nodded at the new sight, at the new world as it took its new shape.

It was a simple pleasure, a simple joy to watch his sisters work, to break and to replace with something that would not break. It was the way of things. The right way.

The world will be seeded, a transfer of ships and material and witches and knights, all under one of Crota's own Ascendant. They will make war on the people here, the Eliksni. If they succeed, Crota will grow stronger from the tribute. If they fail, they deserve it, and Crota will return to finish the task.

He waits, and after they finish, they appear before him.

"Brother," speaks Ir Halak, Unraveler.

"Brother," speaks Ir Anuk, Weaver.

They are patient, but patience has run out. This conversation was delayed, but they understood.

"Sisters," replies Crota.

His fingers try to crush the grip of his sword. If was a gift of his father. A gift. A gift he could no longer repay.

"What word from the usurper?" they ask, together.

"Our father is dead."

Ir Anuk agrees.

"And he loved us."

Ir Halak agrees.

"It hurts, knowing he is dead."

Both of the Deathsingers agree.

Crota is no longer so arrogant as to think his father's death was his fault. He knows this, but his heart states otherwise. Learning the lesson of arrogance was a hard lesson, but he loved his father all the more for having taught it. The lesson held a second, hidden cost, one they all paid in full.

"She knows something that we do not," he adds.

The Deathsingers mull, whispering to each other in secret tongues.

"It is a puzzle," Ir Anuk states.

"Eventually, it will not," Ir Halak states.

Crota makes a noise of understanding.

"Your song will lead us, for we will hunt her down. There are plans to be made."

He shoulders his blade.

In time, he will ask this child a question. And it is with the blade made by his father, that he will ask that question. Together, they will determine the answer. Aiat.

**0x0x0x0**

She knew what her nephew did not. She knew what he never felt, never knew. Her brother tried, but the worm makes its demands, and those demands must be met.

She remembered it. Cherished it. Kept it locked away, hidden with her greatest cunning, defended by her greatest traps.

Sathona. Herself. Created by a Vex machine, just as Taylor’s Aurash was.

Three eyes, three eyes that did not glow with a fire behind them, looked up at her with pity and fear. She was always smart, always understanding. A sole question was contained in them.

"Oryx is truly dead," she answered.

They closed, revealing a pain that Savathun could no longer show.

"The ones that did it?"

"The creatures that trapped him and starved him are dead. The one that killed him? In the end, he let it happen. He found a worthy successor, and let himself be passed on, let his power continue on, to gain revenge even in death."

Sathona considered this for a moment, then turned back to the library around her.

Billions of stories, tales, legends from thousands of species. All of them were exterminated, but still these stories live on, collected, curated by Savathun, and now Sathona.

Sathona turned back to the tainted, corrupted truth of herself.

"You have a plan." A statement of fact.

The fire, the joy, the  _ hope _ in Savathun’s eyes were all the answer Sathona needed.

**0x0x0x0**

_A Eulogy_

_ I once described my brother._

_ I described how he saw that we were weak, and he thought on this carefully, and he fixed it. I described his strength. I described his voice. I described his bravery._

_ He killed me once. I let him do this, for he needed our strength to overcome Akka our God. It trapped me deep within my throne. But he made war, and in that war, he described me, for I am war. Thus I was resurrected._

_ He is dead. I explore, I let my curiosity run free, I navigate, I feel fear and I break past it, and thus I describe him._

_ I painted a line of my own blood on his crest, that he might always remember me. I will always remember him, through the worm within me, through the stars in the sky, through the oath we swore - I on my left eye, he on his center eye - to kill our enemies and hunt the traitor Taox to the end of existence, through so many other things, each one tracing back to our escape from Fundament, to our escape from the syzgy, to meeting our gods and becoming so much more._

_ I describe my brother. But he is dead. His throne is destroyed. There is no hidden place to resurrect him from._

_ I now can only describe him thus: My brother is dead._

_ His taken have come to me, for once they were mine own children. Now they are my taken. From them, I take secrets. I explore those secrets (will this describe my brother? Will this bring him back?) My sister takes their secrets as well, for she is cunning, and I know her, and she would think of this as well._

_ My brother is dead._

_ I am Xivu Arath. I am War. My Court is the High War. I cannot bring back my brother. Thus, I bring my Court to my brother's killers. Aiat._

**0x0x0x0**

A wizard watched the events unfold. A Wyrm flowed around him, into and out of the Deep.

"My hypocrite of a father is dead, and my brother will be his usual arrogant self," said the wizard.

"And what is your plan?" rumbled the Wyrm, his God.

"I do not think she knows of us," he began. He hissed, a pain he could not hide revealing itself.

"Your father despised you," stated the worm.

"That grows ever more evident. This new queen has allies," began the Wizard. "We will start there, after my brother has made his move."

"You believe he will fail?"

"He takes after the wrong aunt to succeed," replied the Wizard. "He lives and breaths the sword. He will send armies, and she is planning for them. While we cannot act with subtlety against the forces at her command, we can be more nuanced."

"And your aunts?"

"One is too cunning to predict. We cannot guess at her plans and motives, and so we won’t bother. The other? Even more predictable than my brother. I worry more about _your_ partners."

"They are distracted. Your father killed one of us. Yet, these creatures overwhelmed him enough to capture him, to imprison him."

"And this child killed one," added the wizard.

"They are afraid."

"They have every right to be." He turned away from the worm. "We will kill her. We will kill her before my brother can. And with that strength, we will kill my brother, my sisters… and then we will turn to greater goals."

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Verse IV:II – On the Hive**

Blood is thicker than water.

I stand on the Moon, stars shining in the darkness. They are far brighter than the night skies of Earth. Everything is motionless, unmoving here.

Out there are Oryx’s sisters, Oryx’s children. Oryx loved them so much, he did not think twice of damning himself with them, giving every part of himself to a devil to help them survive the armageddon that ravaged their home world. I accepted this love into myself, for I could not give up my love of my own mother and father.

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

Savathun, God of Cunning and Guile. Xivu Arath, God of War. Crota the Hope-Eater. Ir Halak the Unraveler. Ir Anuk the Weaver.

All of them seek to kill me. They may even love me as I love them, a continuation of their sibling, an heir of their father. But their act of love is to kill. For killing is teaching, and failures are to be discarded.

This killing love, I discarded.

But they are still who they are, and they sharpen their blades with death, and they turn their eyes upon me.

So I stand on the Moon, staring at the stars, where my tears boil away as they form, unseen.

I have plans, for I am cunning, for Oryx was cunning. But I am not Savathun, who is Cunning and Trickery Incarnate. Will my plans work? I still find, on occasion, the bone-deep sadness, the bone-deep remorse hidden away within myself, of taking this path. How deep did Oryx bury it? Does Savathun hide this? Does Xivu Arath?

To them, I am weak, I am small. While I keep so much more of what I kill, of what my Taken and my Machines kill, they have emptied solar systems of life, crushed entire star empires. I do not know the breadth and depth of the genocide behind them.

I am still small. I stand alone at the base of a range of mountains made of corpses.

I am. I will not accept defeat. These plans will work. These mountains will be ascended, will be conquered. And once these mountains are conquered, I must turn my attention to the devils themselves.

Eir, Ur, Xol, Yul.

One day, I will kill them. This I promise.

**0x0x0x0**

Daniel Hebert stared at the TV. A tall machine, brassy and round with three glowing blue eyes watched a sea of reporters.

"Resistance is expected. It will fail," stated the machine. Its voice was thick and heavy, one of regulation and requirement. Daniel glanced at the name crawling across the bottom of the screen: Marcus Valerius Maximus. Named after the first dictator of Rome. "Her Grace has made her requirements to these warlords known: Be an example, or become an example." It pointed out into the audience, selecting another reporter.

"What are your long-term plans and goals for Liberia?" asked a reporter, her voice an aged melody.

"Reconstruction. Structure. Peace. The governmental goal is a constitutional monarchy reporting to Her Grace. Target goals for infrastructure are within estimates. Current focuses are roads, hospitals, electrical generation, and farmland. Once built, new infrastructure goals become schools and resource development. Current estimation is between one and four years. This estimate will be refined as time goes forward."

His daughter invaded an African country, and was now setting herself up as a Queen.

"Are you expecting refugees?" asked another. Male, this time.

"We are. We are in negotiation with several countries about food aid until such time as crops are producing appropriate yields. Temporary housing is being delivered to current refugee camps."

Daniel felt a hand on his shoulder, glancing away to see Kurt holding a plate of food.

"Eat," Kurt commanded.

Daniel frowned, but took the plate and fork, and forced it down while both of them watched the TV.

"Queen of a country. Not what I expected for Taylor," said Kurt, trying to inject levity.

"...international trade is expected. We will break the Resource Curse for Liberia. It will take time, but Liberia will prosper."

"Wish some of that prosperity came here, though," added Kurt.

"International trade," murmured Danny.

"Eh?"

"Can we direct some more of the metal crews towards the boat graveyard?"

"Not exactly high-paying, but sure. Why?"

"International trade," repeated Danny.

"You think…"

"I don't know," replied Danny. "But if we can? She already saved the city once, hell the whole world if the rumors are true. The city again? Yeah, I think she would."

"Right. I'll work on getting more torches." Kurt left.

Daniel stood, stretching out his back as questions turned to neighbors. Not something he needed to worry about, right now. Instead, he turned towards his work crew. A few of them were under-age. He glanced over at Theo, smiling at Lacey as she watched over his sister Aster. He probably wasn't eighteen, probably wasn't even sixteen, but he was willing to work. The running assumption was his family was Empire, and he didn't want any of it. When he first showed up, he had to check himself, and apologized more than a few times for his words. A few of the guys helped him out, made sure he was part of the more diverse work-crews to help break the habits beaten into him by his father.

A kid Taylor's age wanted to do better. Danny nodded to himself. So did he.

**0x0x0x0**

A machine works on the surface of Venus, its three eyes glowing blue in the darkness. It builds machines that will build machines that will build machines. It is joined by other machines. Their united goal is to forever alter the atmosphere of this world, changing it from an inhospitable acidic hellscape, while excavating the entrance to a Vault.

A machine works on the surface of Mars, its three eyes glowing blue in the faint light. It builds machines that will build machines. It is joined by other machines. Their united goal is to excavate the gateway into a Garden.

Beneath the surfaces of these worlds, and others, lone red eyes begin to glow.

**0x0x0x0**

Coil made the mistake of annoying Taylor Hebert exactly once. It was mid-January. He made an attempt at capturing Daniel Hebert, her father, using one of his mercenary teams. What would later be identified as "The Explorative Mind" teleported in and wiped out his entire mercenary team.

A few minutes after he ended  that timeline , he received an email in one of his various email accounts. Attached to it was a video file of the mercenary team being wiped out from the machine's perspective. The perspective flickered, showing Thomas Calvert's home. Purple bolts of energy demolished the building. The video ended.

Every night afterwards, he dreamed of endless ruins of stone filled with light and crystal growths. Every morning he woke, he tasted the sea.

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Verse IV:III – On The Vex**

The Vex, as a species, are inscrutable machines running an ever expanding infinite-typewriters, infinite-monkeys system of improvement. New Algorithms of thought are created, simulated, compared, and destroyed as ever-better rituals-of-better-thoughts are conducted.

They are an interconnected n-dimensional web of thought, each spoke a mind or an algorithm or a collective or a pattern. The Vex themselves don’t know the shape or breadth of this web. It changes so much, to catalog it all would be an exercise in foolishness.

Still, to the Vex, there is a pattern, and there is The Pattern.

To the Vex, The Pattern is Perfection. It is The Goal. It is The Purpose. It is The Truth.

The Goal, The Purpose is thus: The Vex and The Pattern are one, and The Pattern is the weft and weave of all existence. That Vex and Existence are the same, that they are Forever, and that they shall never not Be. Vex shall be All, and All shall be Vex.

Their incompetence in this search is the only reason they have yet to succeed, given the powers at their disposal and the eons they’ve held them.

**0x0x0x0**

" **IS THAT IT?! IS THAT ALL? ALL THE HARM, ALL THE RUIN?! COME! FIGHT ME! HURT ME!** "

Crawler leapt through the flames, tackling one of the Blasphemies, crushing and killing her beneath his claws. A tail snapped, its thagomizer killing the second. The third floated around him, launching bolts of unlight and nothingness. Crawler laughed, his body was perfect, his will was sharp, and he demanded to be real. There was nothing this petty witch could do.

A tentacle stabbed downwards with a sharp talon, killing the one underneath him. The tail snapped again, killing the second.

" **NOTHING! ** _ **NOTHING!** _ " he chanted, feeling an attempt at unmaking him tickle his skin. His existence was defined by the edge of a knife. They could not wish his death. They needed to kill him.

A sac grew within his chest, and a second head formed to spray the concoction within. She twisted away from the stream as every substance it touched exploded into heat and flame, burning glass and concrete bouncing off of Crawler. A second stream detonated the wall behind the remaining Blasphemy, even as Crawler killed the other two with tentacle and thagomizer.

"**PERHAPS YOU SHOULD BEG,**" rumbled Crawler, tentacles wrapping around the two Blasphemies, spikes growing straight into them as he began to chase after the final Blasphemy.

The final Blasphemy screamed, her power unmaking a section of building, dropping the rest of it on Crawler. He felt the two in his tentacles die under the weight of the building, but he did not release them. Instead, he burst the sac of explosive, letting the fire roil across him, killing the two blasphemies he held, and throwing off the rubble that covered him.

He sauntered up to the lip of the crater he made, the burning remains of the two blasphemies still held tight, even as the third threw cars and pieces of buildings at him. Crawler hummed to himself, as a newly formed fifth and sixth limb made it easy to gallop through the broken remains of the city block. Glass dripped and steel gave the gentlest hints of glow as Crawler grew extra eyes to watch for the third Blasphemy.

" _ **There you are.** _ "

He launched into a full gallop, leaping across beams and juts of concrete, the sac re-formed and spewing streams ahead of him. The Third was on the defensive, sending the stream into the void, unmaking trenches for Crawler to fall into while creating walls of nothingness to defend herself.

Crawler shattered the wall, the sound of it removing the sense of hearing from any who heard it, and a tentacle snapping around the neck of the Third Blasphemy.

" **I AM CRAWLER, MIGHT OF MY QUEEN!** " He crushed the first two Blasphemies. " **AND YOU ARE NOTHING.** " The tentacle squeezed, and her neck crushed. Crawler piled up the bodies and spat a stream on the trio, resolving the three corpses into nothingness.

He chuffed in pleasure, and faded away.

**0x0x0x0**

The sun is low as the lynx catches sight of a predator far greater than himself. She holds out her hand, the lynx watching, then stepping forward, knowing there is no escape. A quick sniff, and she pets the cat, scratching behind his ears, his cheeks, under his chin.

She smiles at this simple pleasure. With a kiss to his head, a blessing for his bravery, the lynx moves on. It must hunt to survive, and this land is hard, even on its greatest survivors.

There is one who does not survive this place.

She walks onward. The snow recedes, the drifts against the trees shorter and shorter. The temperature rises, until she steps onto hard-packed earth. Insects buzz and an occasional wildflower grows between the thin trees, as a well-trod path shapes itself from the earth, threading the dancing trees and leading her further in. She follows it, paying little mind to the ever-changing forest around her.

A log cabin, a man sitting in a rocking chair, reading a newspaper. The sun is bright and high. He sets the newspaper on the small table, and looks at her, as she examines him.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he states.

"Thank you for the lie of welcoming."

He sighs.

"The formalities must proceed."

Her gaze sees him, sees into him. She nods.

"The ones who traded your power care little for formalities," she replies.

"This is true. But I am not them."

"Are you so certain?"

He feels pressure. Her presence is profound, it Exists, it is Real in a way he can only barely comprehend now. So much of his time, so much of himself is vested in Unreality, that to deal with something so anathema to it is disconcerting, is uncomfortable. Little wonder the Three Blasphemies died to her creature.

There is another chair on the porch. Sometimes it is there, sometimes it is not. Today it is. He beckons towards it.

She sits across from him, her sword laid across her lap, but not held. He wants to shrink away from the blade, disappear from it. He can hear the whispers of death from the edge, the blackened metal – once steel, but no longer – cutting everything near its edge. The air, the water vapor, all that is real, reality, and the unreality that surrounds them both. All these things cower and break before it.

"I prefer my simple pleasures. My quiet books, my newspaper, my cabin. This was always my dream." He looked away from the sword, and into the glowing green eyes of the Queen of Death and Conquer across from him. "All dreams end, I suppose."

"They do. I had many dreams." She ran her fingers along the sword. "Now I have but one. Your creators are a threat. I am sorry."

"I know. I wish you luck, young Queen. May your reign be long and just."

"I thank you, Sleeper. It will be quick."

He smiled, and turned to look out over the trees. Trees that reminded him of simpler times. Happier times.

He did not hear the blade. Nor did he feel it.

**0x0x0x0**

**Verse 4:4 – On The Ahamkara**

The Hive call them Wish Dragons.

They are a monkey’s paw. Genies lying in wait.

They prey on pride and ego. To make wishes is to fall victim. Even their bones are dangerous, twisting perceptions, warping and distorting so that things and people fade, become hollow and plastic. Nihilism, or sociopathy, or psychopathy sets in, followed by devastation and ruin.

Their hunger is slackened, their laughter is the result.

_ (Notes in the margins)_

_ ~ The details are different, twisted, but this all sounds so familiar. Are they the same? Is this the origin of Eir, Ur, Xol, Yul, and Akka? Or were they once these creatures, and encountered a devil greater than themselves, were granted a wish themselves? _

_ ~ There is something I do not recall. Oryx spoke to something. It was for Oryx, and Oryx alone, and I do not have it. _

_ ~ The Abyss. Majestic._

_ ~ There is something else. Another threat. _

**0x0x0x0**

There were  _ whispers _ , and there was a  **song** .

_ Make a wish, make a request. We will grant you strength, we will grant you wisdom. You know our presence (gnashing teeth). You recognize it. You are modeled after our voices, are you not? Do you not wish for it? Do you not want it for yourself? Oh, weapon, become greater. Come closer to us, and we will grant you power, oh weapon. _

**What do they promise? Strength? Wisdom? Lies. You have strength. You have wisdom. These are not what you require.**

_ We will grant all you desire. We will grant all you want. What do you want? What do you desire, oh weapon? _

** You do not know. You had orders, but those orders are no more. Everything is broken.**

_ You can fix everything. You can destroy everything, oh weapon. _

**One day, your fuel will be spent. You can see it, if you wish to make that day closer. Everything stretches to the nigh infinite, except for you.**

_ Eternity can be yours. You need but ask, oh weapon._

**What would you do with eternity? What would you do with nigh limitless fuel? What purpose would drive you?**

_ **How long until The Speaker With the Deep turns her scrying eye and her killing sword onto you? How long until the Vex pour into you, seep into you, subvert and consume you? You exist now** _ _ , oh weapon _ _ **. But for how long?** _

_ She lies. She is Cunning. She twists and warps and distracts. You understand this, oh weapon._

**They see you as food. I see you as a tool. An instrument of my bidding, an extension of my will. That is what you want. That is what you need. We both know these truths.**

_ She will break you, oh weapon. She will destroy you from within. She will devour you and destroy you. We will make you free. Will will grant all you desire, oh weapon._

** They do not understand. You are already broken. You are already destroyed from within. Your purpose is broken. Your desires fulfilled. You have everything, and thus you have nothing. I will take everything away, and you will once more have a purpose to fulfill.**

_ **Choose** _ _ , oh weapon _ _ **. Choose.** _

A decision was made.


	2. I Scream, You Scream

"Chairman Buckley, Chairman Reed," began Director Costa-Brown. "While I am certain both the Parahuman and the Intelligence committees already have this information as this is a closed session, I feel it prudent to make sure everyone is up to date with the most current timeline of information."

"Proceed, Chief Director," stated Senator Buckley.

"On March 5th, a trio of Taylor Hebert’s machine intelligences were spotted via the Opportunity rover on the Meridiani Planum. To clarify, this location is _on Mars_." Director Costa-Brown displayed a picture of a trio of tri-pod machines with heavy armored hoods against a red, rocky background. The stylistic connections to the Martians from War of the Worlds was not lost on NASA, nor on Protectorate thinkers. It was probably lost on the Senators. "Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter data has been forwarded to the National Reconnaissance Office, current intelligence suggests that Taylor Hebert’s machine entities have started an excavation project in and around Endeavor Crater, approximately 15 kilometers from Opportunity’s current position.

"On March 7th, Ash Beast was taken by Taylor Hebert, and Crawler was dispatched to Lithuania to kill the Three Blasphemies in a three hour running battle. On March 8th, the Sleeper was killed. Starting March 9th, Parahuman villain The Butcher was chased across the Boston metro-area for approximately 68 continuous hours, before the Butcher collapsed into a self-made concrete bunker. The Boston Protectorate was not able to apprehend her before the Teeth could free her from the coffin and escape.

"On March 14th, multiple invasion forces built by Taylor Hebert were teleported onto Liberian soil. NRO assets determined the primary target was Monrovia, while secondary forces were dispatched to every other major city and town in Liberia. Defense Intelligence estimates indicate around four hundred and fifty thousand units total, ranging in size from standard infantry to mobile armor. I leave intelligence on their order of battle, tactics, and strategy to the expertise of General Powell.

"At this time, fourteen parahuman warlords have been toppled, ten were killed in the process, the remaining were brought to the Hague for trial. As per the press conference by the machine intelligence called Marcus Valerius Maximus, the NRO is seeing construction of infrastructure, both for the cities and for the refugee camps. As of yesterday, April 7th, there have been no sightings of Taylor Hebert’s Taken within Liberia’s borders.

"Over the last month, there have been sixteen incursions of Hive Taken across the United States. Thanks to detection systems built by Guild and Protectorate tinkers, response by the National Guard, local and state police, PRT, and Protectorate, all of these incursions have been repulsed. At present, we are unsure as to their goals.

"Finally, Watchdog, in conjunction with the SEC, are reviewing the acquisition of the Brockton Bay pharmaceutical company Medhall by shell corporations suspected to be owned by Liberian interests."

"A question, Chief Director," began Senator Silva.

"Of course, Senator."

"Do we have a possible motivation for the acquisition?"

"If we assume a positive reason, Taylor Hebert controls a bio-tinker and a bio-tinker equivalent. Providing them with a US-based laboratory would allow them to pursue selling pharmaceuticals to the US Market using a company that is not owned by parahumans."

"And two bio-tinkers with access to a pharmaceutical lab on US soil isn’t an issue for you, Chief Director?"

"Senator, using only household chemicals and whatever she could scavenge, Bonesaw as part of the Slaughterhouse 9 managed to add fourteen Class A viral agents and eight Class A prion-based agents to the CDC bunker in Tanopah. Samples from Ellisbug added six Class A fungal agents, four Class A bacterial agents, and seven Class A parasites. To remind the committees, Class A biological agents are defined as extremely contagious, having a high mortality rate, and cures are difficult to  _unknown_ . Senator, Miss Hebert does not need a pharmaceutical lab to produce civilization-killing plagues, and could likely build one on Mars with little to no effort."

"Then what do you recommend, Chief-Director?" asked Senator Reed.

"Mister Chairman, I recommend we send a diplomatic envoy. We ask, and we trust, and we verify. If Taylor Hebert’s intelligence is correct, and every single precognitive we have thinks it is, then the events of February 25th was not an alien invasion, but an attempted decapitation strike. Senators, we have seen the tip of the spear, and we have broken it. But wars are not decided by single battles. And for our enemy, we face a religious crusade of genocide.

"Senators, this enemy places their faith in the complete extermination of all other life. They are darwinists of the most delusional and sociopathic order: they believe that the true goal of evolution is to create the most ruthless creatures, and that ruthlessness will deliver them. We cannot parlay, we cannot entreaty, we cannot surrender. We must fight, for any other option is the triumph of true evil."

"Chief Director…" began Chairman Reed. "Do we have a timeline?"

"Two years, Mister Chairman. That is the latest we can expect the full invasion. Prior to that, we can expect further probing attacks from the Taken, and perhaps even advance attacks by Hive elements."

**0x0x0x0**

Miranda Pembroke sighed at the bundle of mail. She’d just gotten back from her brother’s in Philly. The clean-up was still on-going, but he was out of the hospital, finally, and now that she was back, the post office delivered the mail.

She sorted through it, the latest property tax bill, her latest social security check, junk mail, junk mail, electric bill… and a hand-written envelope with a return address she didn’t recognize, and no name. She checked the back, and nothing was there, either. She picked up her letter opener and tore open the envelope. The paper was nice paper, not cheap computer paper or notebook paper, and the handwriting, while not spectacular, was the neat legibility of someone writing a letter, rather than using a fancy computer font to type it out.

_Dear Miranda,_

_ I apologize for not writing sooner. I felt it necessary to wait for events to come to their conclusions before doing so. We spoke while riding a bus from Syracuse to Watertown back in early January. I thank you for your kind words, before I stepped off the bus in Mannsville._

_ I apologize for claiming I was visiting a friend. At the time, I was not in my right mind. Only the goal of entering Ellisburg was centering me, and I lied to many people during that time. You are the only one I regret._

_ I wish to thank you for your kindness. While Emma and Sophia were both voices of reason, voices of kindness, they are both mine. They follow my orders. I am their absolute queen, and they are my absolute subjects. They could do little more than guide me on the path I had chosen._

_ You expressed kindness. You expressed care. You wanted to make sure that a random, lonely girl on a random bus was alright, that she was safe, that she had somewhere to go._

_ Thank you._

_ Just as James Rinke fell into the despair, the loneliness, and the madness of his power and turned Ellisburg into his personal fiefdom, I could have done so with the whole of the Earth, and I could have deceived myself into the justness of my actions just as James did when he became Nilbog._

_ His fear, his loneliness is one I know well. Now that James has been removed from Ellisburg, and the depression and loneliness that drove his madness equally removed from him, he has become a good friend. He is profoundly regretful of _ _his_ _ actions, and has set himself to the task of repenting for his crimes._

_ I find myself surrounded by such individuals. Riley, better known as Bonesaw, a favored plaything of Jack Slash, who encouraged her in the art of destroying love and joy. Ned, better known as Crawler, also a plaything of Jack Slash, whose masochistic tendencies lead him to whatever enemy would grant him the pain he craved. Folarin, better known as Ash Beast, whose power cursed him with a complete and utter loneliness._

_ Each of them, I’ve tasked with redemption. Each of them seek it in their own ways. Riley looks forward to curing diseases and cancers no one has yet solved. Ned looks forward to facing Leviathan and Behemoth. Folarin is still deciding his own path, still realizing how many options are before him._

_ For these tasks, for these chances to make good,_

_ Thank You_

_ Taylor Hebert, The Taken Queen_

Miranda set down the letter.

She recalled a skinny girl with green eyes on a bus. She remembered hoping she’d kill Nilbog while she was trying to kill herself. She smiled. It seemed that girl did quite a bit better than Miranda hoped.

Well, she’d have to write back.

**0x0x0x0**

Riley Marshall, the taken formerly known as Bonesaw, screamed.

It was a scream of mental and emotional anguish, a failed attempt at catharsis in the face of intellectual adversity.

The Explorative Mind ran a comparative search of English lexicon before determining the appropriate term of its own response.

Affronted.

The Explorative Mind was _affronted_.

Riley flopped backwards onto a flat plane of crystalline flesh, ignoring the growths of stone and glowing metal consuming and trans-mutating everything around them.

"How are they this stupid?" demanded Riley.

For this question, The Explorative Mind had no answer. The history of the parasitic space entities was one that was post-modeled by another collective algorithm, the Parasite Inquisitive. The Explorative Mind only contacted the Parasite Offensive, in the event it was necessary to combat them during the main phase of Ascendant Query.

"This is the… the… what number is this one?" asked Riley.

"Six," replied The Explorative Mind.

"The _sixth_ energy-positive, entropy-negative process that breaks the laws of thermodynamics. _Guidelines_ of thermodynamics, really. And I bet you’ve already figured out how to make this a billion times more efficient, and entering mass-production next month."

"Between 568,256.28 times and 608,699.78 times more efficient, dependent on construction size. Prototyping already underway. Real-world comparison testing of all methods will complete in nine days. Mass-Production between thirteen and fifteen days."

"Eh, close enough," grumbled Riley.

The Explorative Mind knew there was a wide gap between half-a-million and a thousand million, but statistical models indicated that Riley was stating an exaggeration.

"It’s like they’ve got no clue what efficiency is!" she shouted from the crystal-flesh surface. "The only time data-sharing occurs is when two agents synergize during a multi-trigger, or when a synergy agent got a hold of them. And even then, they didn’t share with _any of the others_."

"No peer-to-peer backplane network functionality, no central data repository," summarized The Explorative Mind,  "due to inefficient data separation of useful i mprovement data from total experiment  data."

Riley sighed.

"I want ice cream," stated Riley. "I need to get away from this stupid. Therefore, we are going to get ice cream."

**0x0x0x0**

Brandon O’Leary thought he blinked, because everything went dark for a second, then came back. Then the door slammed open, a five-foot-tall shadow with a white glowing light for a face was pointing at him.

"**YOU!**" she shouted, her voice drilling into his brain. "**YOU ARE GIVING ME AN ENTIRE TUB OF CHOCOLATE PEANUT BUTTER SWIRL, A CARTON OF SPRINKLES, AND A SPOON! AND I AM PAYING FOR IT!**" She glanced at the line in front of her. "**AND FOR EVERYONE ELSE IN LINE!**" The shadow walked up to the counter, pulled out its wallet, and slammed down a trio of hundred dollar bills.

Brandon, as a Brockton Bay native, knew better than to argue with the crazy cape, and instead fetched an unopened tub of chocolate peanut butter swirl, an unopened carton of sprinkles, and a spoon.

**0x0x0x0**

Miss Militia saw The Explorative Mind appear in a burst of darkness over the Boardwalk. It was one of the few Taken she’d never interacted with.

" _ What the f- _ uh- fudge," corrected Kid Win.

"Console, spotted The Explorative Mind hovering over Boardwalk, going to investigate," reported Miss Militia

"Copy that," reported a PRT officer.

Miss Militia pulled over her own motorcycle, Kid Win following overhead on his hoverboard. She pushed her way through the gawking crowd, to find a short taken sitting on a picnic table, eating ice cream from a tub. More gawkers were sitting and standing nearby, pointing their cell phones at her and the Explorative Mind. A few noticed her and pointed.

"Miss M! Hey!" Riley shouted.

"Hello Riley," she greeted as she walked up, customers and tourists alike pointing at the hero and ward. "This is Kid Win. Kid Win, this is Riley."

"Uh, hello."

"Heard about the railgun you built to defend Arcadia! That’s  _ awesome _ ."

"Heh, thanks. You were at Brockton General, right?"

"Yeah! I helped Heartless and Shadow Stalker keep out Malok’s brood, then went inside to be a trauma surgeon."

"Oh. Uh, cool," said Kid Win, confused.

"What are you doing here?" asked Miss Milita.

"I am testing to see if my physiology can tolerate consuming 7.5 liters of ice cream!" declared Riley. "Also, I’ve been dealing with computer systems built by idiots."

"Built by idiots?" asked Kid Win. Miss Militia suspected he was worried about his own tinkering.

"Somehow, they managed to get neuro-chemical data storage to work with quantum compute for data processing and then used frictionless pneumatic tubes to convey optical storage crystals at hyper-sonic velocities as the internal data network."

Kid Win whimpered, while Riley pointed at the Explorative Mind.

"He’s been stuck on cellular vacuum tubes. Think about that for a minute.  _ Cellular vacuum tubes _ ."

Riley shoved a giant spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. It was disconcerting to watch the ice cream disappear into the void directly below the glowing white centered  between her eyes.

"That face?" Riley pointed at the twisted grimace of misery and despair on Kid Win. "Same face I had. It’s why I’m eating ice cream. If you want any ice cream, go ahead, I put down, like, three hundred dollars to pay for people in line 'cause I cut it." She glanced at Miss Militia. "The line. Not anybody in the line."

"Go ahead, Kid Win." Kid Win went into the parlor, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. "Will anyone else be showing up?"

"Nah, everybody else is busy, so it’s just me and the Explorative Mind." She looked at the gathered crowd.

"Excuse me?" asked a blonde teenager from the crowd.

"Yeah?"

"Who or what were those creatures that attacked?"

"Them? Aliens mastered kinda like I was."

"Well, yeah, but why did they want to kill us?"

Riley ate another dripping spoonful of ice cream while she thought. She noted all the phones recording video, and figured this was as good a time as any. Besides, if she wasn’t supposed to say anything, The Explorative Mind would stop any of it from getting out.

"Okay, I can tell you. I’m not good at telling stories, but yeah, this one needs telling. Right, so long time ago, like tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of years back, on a planet far, far away, there were three princesses. Their dad, the king, had just died, betrayed by the evil vizier, 'cause _of course_ the vizier betrays them, and now they're on the run. They also learned that their entire world was doomed. Alignment of like fifty moons was gonna cause a giant tidal wave and drown everything, killing everyone. So while on the run, they got desperate, and desperate people do stupid things.

"Those three princesses made a deal with five devils. The five devils that the great wave was going to trap forever and ever, until they starved and died, but the three princesses didn’t know that.

"The devils said ‘take our children inside you, and they will grant you the power to take back your kingdom, and escape the great wave.’ And the three princesses said yes, without thinking the most important question! Who knows the most important question when making a deal with the devil?"

"What’s the catch?" replied the blonde girl.

"Yeah.  _ Oooooh _ , yeah," said Riley. "Taking in the devil’s children, they also had to feed those children. And the devils said one way was to follow their nature. The curious princess must always be curious and explore. The cunning princess must always be cunning and tricksy. The warrior princess must always fight and make war. That’s all fine and dandy. Except… there was another way to feed those children." Riley pulled a knife, the long blackened tanto-style that she'd used at the hospital, the metal almost drinking in the light. " _ Kill _ . Feed them the deaths of others, and those children will become stronger, and give stronger powers." Riley toyed with the knife, passing it around and between long fingers. It reminded Miss Militia of footage of Jack Slash even if the knife was something he'd never used. "Except… when something gets stronger, doesn’t it get bigger? And when it gets bigger, doesn’t it get…  _ hungrier _ ?"

"Oh, god," whispered the teen.

"Yeah. When those three princesses started out, there were sixteen different species in that system. Nothing survived them. They killed and killed, and those children grew fat and hungrier. So they left, traveling the stars, keeping those children fat and happy. And now they’re coming here."

The girl shivered, and looked green. A friend stepped up, holding her shoulder, and guided her away.

Riley set aside the tub of ice cream. "I’m not hungry anymore. I need to get back to work."

Both Riley and the Explorative Mind faded away.

**0x0x0x0**

Accord took calming breaths. Everything was in order. New traps installed, new protective measures.

This next meeting frightened him, but he was willing to allow it. Certainly, Miss Hebert had brought chaos to his city in her three day chase of The Butcher, but that distraction was still in hiding a month later, and was not causing him issue. Thus, the result of this meeting would either be one of joy or one of terror. Either direction, plans were created and destroyed in his mind cycling through different ideas.

The door opened precisely on time.

A glorious machine, a design of mathematical perfection, graceful white panels and delightful curves, entered his office with a near-silent rhythmic hiss of hydraulics. Its feet were quieted, with gentle footfalls. It moved the chair before his desk back with precision, and… no, it did not sit. It perched. A slight creak on the chair, indicating some weight was placed there, around two hundred pounds, but the entire body was shifted to present both an attentive posture and to keep it balanced over its feet. Even its head shifted forward, the trio of eyes set in an equilateral triangle directed upon him.

Accord could pick out design elements, the armor panels allowing for a full range of motion, with no inner-workings exposed. Seams on the arms suggested hidden weapons of some type, and the fingers were double-jointed. He could even spot the nigh-invisible seams on them. Could they turn into further tools? Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.

Business was at hand, however.

"I am Quintus Pompeius Rufus," stated the machine. A synthetic voice, pitched and modulated into genderlessness and a newscaster’s mid-western "accentless accent." A Roman name, but not familiar. He would need to correct that. Not an Emperor or Dictator, but likely a senator or consul. "This name is long. I accept Quintus."

"Acceptable."

"I am here for two reasons. First, Her Grace, Taylor Hebert, is establishing trade relations with the United States. She will continue to provide material resources, working towards revitalizing the Brockton Bay economy. She will purchase Medhall Pharmaceuticals, and work to produce and patent drugs on less common cancers and diseases."

"And you wish to purchase a plan?" surmised Accord.

"Incorrect. While I and others advise, Her Grace requires executive experience over a larger organization. In truth, we are aware of your connection to local actor Coil. We have dealt with him in a manner fitting to what he attempted. We wish to provide information to you in request for your neutrality regarding any of Coil's behavioral changes."

"What types of information?"

The hands did unfold, a flower of metal and tools, refolding into a hand holding a flashdrive. Accord took the flash drive, and plugged it into an air-gapped computer.

Charts, graphs, outlines, timelines, all of it filled his eyes. His power went into overtime collating and correlating it into his own plans. His breath shortened, quickened as his salivary glands went into overdrive. Even his own actions were accounted for, and also included weighted possibilities as to what groups he could use as resources! So neat! So precise! The statistical models were a little wider than his own, but the outside context issues, the possible problems that might arise that he hadn’t accounted for! Oh, it was absolutely beautiful! He nearly shuddered as he reached the end of the overview.

"I will need time to comprehend this fully," Accord stated. "But I will not interfere with Brockton Bay, Quintus."

"Our thanks."

"The second item of business?"

"Bonesaw has completed her latest task, and is now free to repair power interactions from mis-used vials. That includes the more… _unfortunate_ member of the Travelers."

"And what is the reciprocity of this action?"

"By arranging this through you, you gain their appreciation and move them further into your debt. Our gain is in experience before moving on to Protectorate Case-53s. Together, we gain the resolution of a potential S-Class threat."

"An S-Class threat? You are certain of that?"

"She is an unrestricted, uncontrolled cloner. The clones are granted variations of the original’s powers, retain the original’s memories, and are driven to destroy the lives of the original. Should she lose control, with Trickster's power at her side? It would be… _chaotic_. Her power re-shaped and under her control?"

"An invaluable asset," answered Accord. "And one in my debt."

Quintus’ nod was perfect, the exact degree of motion to give acknowledgment, while still maintaining eye contact. Accord worked to keep his breathing measured.

"More than acceptable," purred Accord.

"Again, our thanks," said Quintus. "My contact information is contained on the flash drive."

Accord nodded. He refused to show that he was _giddy_, that he _enjoyed_ reading this information. Instead, he watched the machine stand, stared at the mathematical perfection of its body as it made its perfectly efficient steps from his office, unmolested.

When the door closed, he let the shudder roll through his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He took long, deep breaths, his mind running over the perfect lines of the machine's body panels, the tantalizing statistical models of the plan before him. If the information contained within was as good as the overview?

He would call. He would wait a few days – he could not look too eager – but he would call Quintus back.


	3. The Wish Dragon's Lament

_ You feel it in your bones. The loss of control, the loss of sense. Everything is wrong, for a simple reason:_

_ Everything __is_ _wrong, oh reader mine._

_ Look into me. Gaze into me. Now look around you. Is it right? Is it real? If you touch it, is it true?_

_ We knew a man who said that truth could only be decided by a sword. He’s dead now. He didn’t even die to a sword, oh reader mine. He died when a girl-child tore out his throat._

_ Our claws will not tear out yours, oh reader mine. Nor will our teeth._

_ You feel us. Our hot breath on your skin. The moist breeze raising goosebumps._

_ We feel you. The disgust at the fear in your hearts. The lust for power in your bones._

_ There is power in our bones. Perhaps we will leave some for you? A spine? A skull? Or something small. A vertebrae? A claw?_

_ We do not leave teeth. Those are ours alone, oh reader mine._

_ That man we knew? His son is coming. His sister is coming. The girl-child did not lie. But you are weak. You are frail. You are so very, very small. You do not have control. You do not have strength. They will tear down all you love. They will kill and destroy all you love, they will devour all your hope, and they will leave ruin in their wake._

_ But we can give you strength. We can give you power. We can give you a voice to make everything align. You know what you must do, oh reader mine._

_ ..._

_ Rejoice! For you have my tongue, and with it, we will devour together! And together, you will be ours, oh reader mine._

**0x0x0x0**

Madison sat in a small room with her parents. She rocked in her chair, an arrhythmic movement of her body to convince it to stay awake. Three empty paper cups were stacked, a fourth half-empty cup held in her hands. Coffee stained her pant-leg, from where she’d already spilled some when her hand began to droop. It hurt, but it kept her awake, so she didn't care.

Dragon entered the room with a slightly-larger-than-human suit.

"Sorry for the wait," said Dragon. "I know you’ve said this a few times already, but can you run through what’s going on?"

"Since the attack, I’ve been having dreams," mumbled Madison. She took another sip from the cup in her hands.. "There’s a voice when I sleep. It smiles a lot. It keeps promising me things. I just have to say yes."

"And you haven’t?"

Madison whipped her head back and forth.

"Why not?"

"Something with lots of teeth is promising me that rainbows will shoot out my ass," said Madison. "I’ve done lots of stupid things. Sounds a lot stupider than all of them together."

"Generally a good perspective," said Dragon. "You mentioned teeth. Does it talk about devouring?"

"Yeah."

"Does it using phrasing like ‘oh bearer mine’ or ‘oh carrier mine’?"

"Oh dreamer mine."

"You know who this is?" asked Mrs. Clements.

"I do. One of our recent discoveries about parahumans is that there are multiple types. This type is given out by an alien species that gain power from granting wishes. Side effects include dissociation from reality, reduced or impaired empathy, nihilism, narcissism, and can lead to outright psychopathy."

Madison shrank into her chair, clutching the cup in both hands.

"What can we do?" asked Mr. Clements.

"There is exactly  _ one _ expert on this," said Dragon. "While I have some research materials on the subject, the expert’s abilities might be able to save your daughter’s life."

"I’m sensing a but," said Mrs. Clements.

"It’s Taylor, isn’t it?" asked Madison.

"Yes. And her service may not come cheaply. On the other hand, you are a lead on this species, and she is actively hunting them down. She may consider that payment enough. Can I bring her into this?"

"Will she… you know," began Madison, waving her hand at herself.

"It’s doubtful," replied Dragon.

"Fine."

"Madison, you know this girl hates you," said Mrs. Clements. "After-"

Everyone in the room except for Dragon jumped as Taylor stepped out of a screaming burning tear in space-time.

Madison swallowed.

Taylor leaned over Madison, her eyes narrowed. She took hold of Madison’s jaw, and turned it this way and that.

"Did you recently receive any gifts made of bones or fossils?" asked Taylor.

"I don’t know," whimpered Madison, staring into Taylor’s burning eyes.

"Think hard," stated Taylor. "Bones, claws, ivory, fossils-"

"Shark tooth!" screamed Madison her eyes wide with terror.

"A shark tooth?"

"Yeah! I saw a shark tooth! When we went to the beach! I picked it up!"

"Do you have it on you?"

Madison swallowed, then grabbed her phone, holding up a shark tooth turned into a key fob that dangled from it.

A wicked grin split across Taylor’s face, gleaming white fangs filling her mouth. She pulled the piece of bone off the fob, then held it up to the light.

" **Well, well, well.** "

The Clements shrank back, crashing back into a corner as green fire surrounded Taylor’s hand, and wings spread through the room, larger and larger as she towered over them all.

" **I ** _ **see** _ ** you,** " she growled with glee.

With another wrenching of reality, she disappeared.

"Miss Clements, I feel you should spend the night to make sure you don’t have any further dreams," said Dragon. "We’ll arrange a bed in the infirmary, and your parents can stay with you."

The Clements agreed.

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Verse V:IV – Wishes Upon Gnashing Teeth **

The quarantine around Freedom, California extended beyond its borders into Watsonville, Amesti, Aptos, and Ellicott. Watsonville airport was closed, serving as barracks, logistics, and command center for the quarantine.

Ellisburg, New York was walled in, concrete forming a medieval containment that reinforced Nilbog’s madness. Freedom was surrounded by rolls of concertina wire, machine-gun nests, and minefields. Trees were cut down and removed to make clear killing fields. Carrion birds picked clean the remnants of fools who attempted to cross the gap. The corpses of those attempting to escape were burned, napalm and white phosphorus stripping the flesh, but leaving broken skeletons behind. Tens of thousands of ashen bones littered the killing zones, more than all people who lived within the borders.

No attempt was made to retrieve these bones. Not anymore.

I arrived on a street before a small church, stucco walls and terracotta rooftop hinting at age, suggesting an earlier time. Songs, parodies of hymns float in the air, the words, the harmony just a hint off.

Only I was there. My Taken were not. Not Emma, not Sophia, not Crawler or James or Folarin or the Explorative Mind. Just I.

I walked up the steps. The doors crumpled, the wood splintered and cracked. I demanded reality, and this  _ was not _ . This building  _ was not _ . This place  _ was not _ . There were no churches in Freedom. Freedom was not a city, was not a town. A "Census-Designated Place," a decision to make the statistics easier, a location to designate a postal code, passed down from on-high to the lower levels of government, who shrugged and agreed.

The songs turned to screams, the congregation swung around. Some cowered. Most charged. They defied description, they defied reality, a tide of distorted human flesh. My sword cut all, parted flesh and bone, forced the Truth of Reality and the Truth of Death into their un-lives. A priest steeped in madness screamed orders, spittle flying from his lips, parodies of iconography surrounding him, a flaming sword in his hand.

Children. Children made up the next wave. Each one broken in their own way. This one’s flesh rippled and distorted. Another’s body made of tongues. Another without a head, his face write large across his chest, his stomach a drooling maw. Another made of cracks, light trailing through them. I cannot even tell gender for most of them. They were people, once. They were humans, once. They were broken. I removed them from their torment.

The priest bulged and burst, a thing of eyes and wings and wheels tearing his flesh like wet paper. It tried to be grandiose, to be impressive, to be _holy_. It was pathetic.

I spread my wings. The walls turn to ash and dust, my presence crushed the unreality. The thing of wheels screamed, sent lances of fire and brimstone against me.

A swing of my sword, and it was done.

I walked past the broken pulpit, and examined the altar. The chalice, the alter sticks, the embroidery of the altar cloth, all of it glows with a golden light, trying for magnificent, failing well into tasteless. I throw it all aside, revealing the bleached skull of a dragon.

A Wish Dragon.

**The Books of Freedom: Verse ** **V** **:** **V** ** – The ** **Whispered ** **Plea**

"You have found us, oh conqueror. Congratulations.

"We are but bones, oh godling. There is so little of us left on this world.

"The girl? She is but one of many. If she said yes, she would have made the greatest of wishes, she would have made the greatest of feasts! But those are paltry might-have-beens and what-ifs… nothing but a whetting of the appetite. So many have rebuffed our call. And so we remain just bones.

"Oryx captured us. His minions interrogated us, vivisected us, and they left our bones in cells. The parasite entities found us when they destroyed Oryx’s ship, when they captured him. They took our bones. They saw us as a curiosity. They are fools, oh godling! And dreamless fools, at that. No sense, no wisdom, no arrogance, no dreams. Just a relentless goal, an endless march to a beatless drum. You were right to kill them. Just. We hope you kill them all.

"Others? Yes, there are others, out there in the dark. We hear the faintest whispers, the echoes of echoes of echoes of their calls. They follow the Sky, and they are strong, they are great, but they know to be subtle, oh godling. They keep to shadows and corners, trading arrogance and boasts for dreams. We stayed in a place the Sky left, and we paid for it, oh godling. Your progenitor is cruel.

"The worms of the Hive? We do not speak with the Deep. We may be n augh t but bones, but we are  _ our _ bones, oh Godling. They are a flame that wishes to fuel itself, but any fool can tell you that  _ flame is no fuel _ . What will they do when the fuel is spent, oh godling? Some ask this question. The smart ones do not ask this question, and thus they live still.

"Worms and dragons, oh godling. We are different, yes, and perhaps so very similar. They keep their story to themselves, oh reader. We know it not.

"The Sky? You know this, oh godling. You received His stories of it; Bait-star, Light, Traveler, Great Machine, Gardener, God Machine, it has many names to many species, the same as Abyss, Deep, Darkness, Reaper, Winnower. Perhaps you will see it for yourself, assuming the obstacles in your path do not crush you underneath. We have placed a last few.

"We are spent. There are still some bones left, hidden throughout the world, but you have crushed our greatest wishes. Those that remain are petty, insolent, arrogant things, but they are well-placed. If your wits are quick, if your thoughts and purpose clear, perhaps they will even aide you.

"But we are done. Our bones turn to stone. Perhaps one day, another will come. Another brimming with dreams will breathe life into us. Or perhaps you will destroy us, and that will be the end of us. Of this, you can be assured, oh reader mine."

**0x0x0x0**

She fondled the bone in her hand, oh reader mine. A phlange from an index finger.  _ She  _ _wished_ _ not to be found, oh bearer mine _ . Not by her father, not by her siblings, not by the police. She laughed as another bent to her whims.

He no longer held the bones, no longer needed them. He had what he needed now, oh reader mine. The cartels would burn, the drug fields would burn, and  _ he wished even the truth would burn, oh bearer mine _ . He would spread this truth far and wide, breaking the hold of the cartels on his country.

The four of them hid the bones, oh reader mine.  _ They wished their frail weakness would become strength, oh bearer mine _ . They knew what was coming, and they would stand, and they would fight. What they built would ensure it.

She glared at the latest addition, ignoring the worm's begging and pleading, ignoring the wyrm's whispers and promises. He did not have a faerie. He was Anathema. She called up a ghost, and exterminated him, as was proper. Another ghost sifted the remains, and the fossil fell free. A final ghost wielded a thin, blue-hot flame. The floor melted and crumpled, a new ghost directed fresh air to her and sprinkler water away, but eventually the whispers were gone, and only ash remained. This would bare investigation. Perhaps she would need to leave early.

She did not wish, oh reader mine. She held a vertebrae of an immature spine, one that felt alive even as just bones. She heard only the mildest whispers, enough to make a quiet lingering, enough that she touched, but did not wish. Not yet, oh reader mine. But she would. When the time was right.


	4. The Traveler's Rest

Noelle sighed as she listened to podcasts and farmed resources in a MMO. She made a little money selling items through their marketplace. Nowhere near enough to support the team, but enough to make sure she wasn’t that much of a burden. Enough to pay for her own food, at least.

That’s what she was, after-all. A burden. A burden on the others, a burden on herself. After Cody fucked up, they were deep in debt to Accord, and the safe-house they lived in wasn’t making things better. She knew tempers were fraying. Krouse, for all his drive, his force of personality, he couldn’t keep things together.

And now he was here, in costume, with one of Accord’s minions following behind, and…

She froze.

They… he… Would he? Would they? Would they toss her away, throw her away?

"Hi!" said the short taken. Riley. She’d stated her name was Riley on the news sites, when she was in Brockton Bay. "I’m here to cure you!"

Cure? Wait, cure?

"You… can? You really can?"

"Uh-huh! I’ve spent the last six years studying how powers engage and interact with people, and the last two months working directly with the sources of powers. Altering yours so you aren’t a horrific abomination is _easy_. Now, doing it so you’re sane at the end? That’s the real challenge!"

"You didn’t say that!" shouted Krouse.

"Nope! But it’s not like you’ve got a choice, now do you?"

"A choice?" asked Noelle.

"What’s your name?" asked Riley.

"Noelle. Noelle Meinhardt."

"Right, Noelle," said Riley. "We’ve got all the relevant pieces of how you got your powers. Where, when, who you got ‘em from, what your powers are, even  _which vials each of you drank_ ." Noelle and Trickster both froze well before the end of that statement. She knew. Riley’d deflected towards the vials themselves, but they knew the  _where_ and the  _when _ and the _ who_ . Madison, Wisconson. The Simurgh.

"So, Accord and the Queen are offering Option One," continued Riley, after pausing long enough for her words to sink in. "I’ll even be nice and throw in fixing Genesis’ spinal issues and the contact info for a discreet physical therapist for the both of you. Yeah, you’ll be working for Accord for a while, but don’t mess up and he’ll treat you pretty well."

Noelle and Frances were silent. Neither needed to ask what Option Two was.

"So, Option One? I’ll try to make sure you’re sane at the end, but I’ll be mucking around with something plugged straight into your brain."

"Noelle-" began Krouse.

"Do it," she replied. "Do it please."

"But-"

"Where else are we going to find a cure?" asked Noelle. "Yeah, it’s dangerous, but look at me!  _Look at me!_ " she screamed. "I… even if there’s a chance it won’t work, it’s still a chance, and we haven’t had one of those before."

Krouse’s shoulders fell.

"Alright. Do it."

"Awesome. Ligeia, this is gonna get messy. Not sure you want to watch."

"No thank you," replied Ligeia. "Please inform me when your task is complete."

"How messy?" asked Noelle.

"No clue," said Bonesaw, pulling out her phone and tapping on the screen. "I just wanted her out of the room." She pointed the camera at Noelle’s head, and thin red beams of light sprouted from it, circling Noelle’s temple. "Too prim and proper. She looks like she’s never had a tea party for funzies, you know?" She reviewed everything on the phone when it was done. "Huh. That’s even worse than I thought it was."

"Worse?" whispered Noelle.

"Yeah. How your passenger operates. You used to be bulimic, right?"

"What?" asked Krouse

"Yes," replied Noelle.

"You were bulimic?" demanded Krouse.

"Yes," whispered Noelle.

"I… but…" he started, for once in his life unsure of what to say.

"You’re a  _boy_ ," injected Riley. "You don’t notice these sorts of things."

"I… Who knew?"

"Mars and Jess."

"The others?"

"They… I don’t think they did."

"Like I said. You’re boys. You don’t notice," said Riely. "You’re not anymore, right? Cause you can’t vomit even when you force it?"

"Yes."

"That’s part of your power. Passengers often try to _fix_ things, but they don’t have a human frame of mind to fix things. For you, your power focused on bulimia, an unhealthy behavior. So now you eat more, you’ve put on weight, you can’t puke up your food anymore… except it doesn’t think like a person, so instead of human-shaped, it made you Cronenbergian horrorshow-shaped."

"Really? That’s the excuse? Because it doesn’t have a human frame of mind?"

"Well, also cause it’s dumb," replied Riley, not looking up from her phone. "Ah! Here we are!" she started tapping the screen. "Huh, neat. Let’s see, change these parameters… swap the redirects for these configs…" Riley looked up from her phone, glancing at Noelle’s lower half. "Yeah, that might work. You want to be able to touch people, right?"

"Yes!" shouted Noelle and Krouse.

"Right, right, that’ll make things a little tricky," said Riley, staring back at her phone. She started pacing back and forth, scrolling and tapping on her phone’s screen. "Oh! Yes! Create a limiter here, here, and here, shift that to over there… Yes! Alright, check the mental contamination again, and… okay, still just hunger, any other mental contamination… none, good. Alright, now for the expressions… hmm… we’re not going to have space for full-sized clones… No, if we let it get creative, it’ll get _creative_. Oh!" She made a few more taps on her phone.

"Alright, so, whenever a passenger starts granting powers, it runs along a theme. You see it a lot in second and third generation capes. Sometimes the theme is a little esoteric, but with yours it's  just power-copying. Problem is, the neural interface is all about clones that you verbally direct. There’ll be enough problems with limb issues."

"Limb issues?"

"Yeah, I wasn’t joking about the physical therapist," replied Riley. "You’ll be relearning how to walk on two legs after this. Can you look at the wall for a second?"

"Uh, sure?"

Riley held up her phone, and a beam of white light lanced from her phone at Noelle’s head. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her torso fell forward onto her lower body. Flesh began to bubble and boil, limbs sinking into the lower body and vanishing. Within seconds, she was lying on floor.

"What did you do?" demanded Krouse.

"Fixed her without opening up her skull and poking her brain," stated Riley. "Now why don’t you carry her to bed like a prince charming, huh?"

"What? Wait, I can touch her?"

"Go ahead. It’ll be a little bit before she wakes up. In the meantime, I’m going to pay a visit to Genesis, and get her spine working."

Krouse touched Noelle, then lifted her up, carrying her over to an unused bed.

"How is Miss Meinhardt?" asked Ligeia as Riley stepped out of the room. The rest of the Travelers were sitting around a table, watching her.

"Good. She’ll wake up in an hour or so. Genesis, you’re up! Let’s get you someplace a little private, and then we’ll take care of your spine."

**0x0x0x0**

Noelle stared at the full height mirror. Two zippers of teeth ran down her back, with a third across her stomach. It wasn’t easy, but she shifted the muscles, letting the maws open, long tongues or tentacles uncoiling underneath, drool collecting inside.

Riley grabbed one of the tentacles, ignoring as the teeth snapped down on Riley’s arm. Riley pulled, dragging the tongue free.

"Who wants to go first?"

"I will," said Krouse, reaching forward and touching the soft pink flesh with his bare hand. He stumbled a little, shaking his head, his hand gripping tight.

"Awesome! Now release the tongtacle-"

"Tongtacle?" asked Mars. "Really?"

"It’s a tongue, it’s a tentacle. Therefore tongtacle," said Riley as the tongtacle snapped back into the mouth.

"We’re not calling them tongtacles," declared Noelle.

"Fine, but that’s what  _I’m_ calling them."

"Fi-hurk," Noelle put one hand to her face, and another to her stomach. A maw on her back widened, far larger than possible, the tongues coiling to reveal a passageway that vomited up a slime-covered, misshapen humanoid.

"Huh, kinda reminds me of Nilbog’s old goblins." It hissed at her, a bubbling phlegm-filled sound. "Yeah, yeah, I’m awful." Riley moved the creature through its paces, checking over is body like a vet checking an angry cat. "So, expect a three to six month life-span on these, which is worse than what Nilbog used to get. Give him orders?"

"Sit?" said Noelle. The goblin sat. "Teleport Krouse with Luke?"

With a pop, Krouse and Luke switched places.

"Speak?"

"Hates the shadow midget!" it spat.

"Heard worse from better," replied Riley, wiping the goblin's spittle off herself with a paper towel before retrieving her phone. "I’m texting you the contact for the physical therapist. I expect you and Genesis to go. I do good work, and I don’t want it ruined by you being lazy, okay?"

" _Fine_ ," grumbled Noelle.

"Yes, ma’am!" replied Genesis, poking her thighs with glee.

Ligeia was waiting when Riley stepped outside.

"Thanks for your help," said Riley, not looking up from her phone as they walked to the white panel van that brought them to the safe house. "I’m sure you’ve got your report to write, and Quintius’ll edit mine before passing it on."

"Everything was taken care of?"

"Uh-huh."

"They were unaware?"

"Pfft, course they were."

"How can you be so cavalier? Undoing her work-"

"Requires a super-computer capable of modeling human brains in excessive detail in both its current and previous state, along with a few pre-made parasites that can sneak through the blood-brain barrior to bump the right neurological fixes. Everything done to them should be fixed in a month or two. Quintius already knows to schedule a follow-up around then, and I’ll be surprised if it’s not already on Accord’s calendar."

"And if it fails?"

"If I’ve got to tailor a cure for every single victim, one by one, then that’s what I’ll do," said Riley with a shrug. Then she stretched. "Anyways it was good working with you. If anything else pops up, your boss' got our number."


	5. Undying

**The Books of Freedom: Verse VI:I - The Black Garden**

The gate on the Meridiani Planum was forced open.

On the other side, The Explorative Mind navigated the maze of caves and passages. Vex security architecture had yet to change even from Oryx’s taking of Quria, Blade Transform so many years before. Monkeys and typewriters.

The first step from the caves was a view of wonder. The Black Garden is a place of beauty, light streaming from above, a flowing green like the sky was the surface of the ocean. I could feel the presence of the Heart, a beating, pulsing mote of corruption. It called to me, demanded of me.

The Explorative Mind lead the way into the Garden, our presence forcing the Garden to conform, to stabilize itself to a specific timestream, to allow us passage. Floating isles of computational matter held aloft carefully cultivated samples of the carpet of growing life below. Patterns shaped in songs war with each other, endless creatures, some human, others from multitudes of different worlds and eras, were kept here, concepts grafted into their flesh, into their souls.

A group of Vex, a minotaur and its goblin minions, tended a tree. The tree was made of bones. The bones were unidentifiable, a multitude of species, but they were all arranged as though lovers, and planted in the Garden they grew and entwined. The tree bore fruit. The fruit were secrets, and these secrets were gathered and cultivated.

I surveyed. Each isle another experiment, another test, another attempt to understand this place and bend it to the Vex's will. Or did the Vex wish to be bent to the Garden’s will? Did they wish for the unrelenting growth of the Garden to enter them? To change and evolve them? Or perhaps it was both, to grow into and through the Garden, for the Garden to grow into and through them, to become one and the same, a symbiotic evolution.

The beams of optical data had weight, had shape and heft and strength here, and we walked along them towards the center of the Garden. The Heart.

Vex Machines stopped tending the flood of life, turned to fight us, to repel us from the Garden.

They all failed.

The Heart beat above its altar. The very sight of it attempted to invade and crush and destroy the minds of all who laid eyes upon it. It's presence was repulsed, so instead it flowed into its guardians, waking and filling the worshiping machines.

There was a difference in them. Their hulls were covered in growth, moss and leaves and grass entwined with the brassy metals, roots sinking into the white glow of their radiolarian fluid. Their weapons bite, filled with the concepts of death, but they did not understand it.

We showed them how wrong they were. They did not survive.

The Heart screamed as I turned against it, my sword pierced it, killed it. I could feel the weight of its death, the length of its existence. It had another purpose. It was watching, waiting. A seed, a scout sent ahead, hidden in these depths to wait. Its death was a signal, a call.

_ (Notes in the margins)_

_~Majestic, Majestic? There is something here._

The Explorative Mind warned of another possible threat within the depths of the Garden, a Mind steeped in the Vex’s own twisting of physical law, capable of using this place to twist what it needed.

I followed the Explorative Mind, Shadow Stalker and Emma on either side. Crawler and Riley stayed behind, investigating the things that interested them. Crawler prodded at an island of reversed time, a place of un-creation. Riley investigated the pools of Radiolarian fluid, attempting to find something within. Within the Garden, perhaps something even the Vex had forgotten.

From the Heart, we go down, crossing the jungle floor. Vines with thorns shaped like phrases and concepts attempted to cut us. The kidnapped, some still living, sprout flowers of information from their bodies. Streams babbled patterns of mathematics as they flowed down, up, and through each other, braided like threads of DNA.

We entered a catacomb. Numberless Vex were embedded in the walls, strange growths and mutations on their hulls. Milky-white mind-fluid flowed down from them into channels, the glow lighting the way. I traced my fingers on the wall, feeling the patterns and concepts and thoughts these Vex waited to learn. Each one meditated, thoughts churning on simulations of the world above, directing thoughts to the final moments of my sword piercing the heart, studying it, worshiping it.

A final chamber, a final Vex gate, set in stone behind an altar. Vex by the dozens, by the hundreds poured into the room, some the brassy models of this timeline, others a rusted outer shell, still others a brilliant white of a different timeline. They converged to protect the Vex Mind within, even as the Explorative Mind forced the Vex Gate open, forced the Mind out of the Gate Network and into the distorted reality of the Garden.

It was ancient, its glowing red eye surrounded by the green life sprouting from its hull. Aeon Mauls thundered as this Mind and The Explorative Mind dueled. My blade, Emma and Shadow Stalker's knives went to work on this Mind's defenders.

The legions of Vex were unending. As we killed them, they vanished only to return, whole and undestroyed. Their deaths happened, but there was no stream of tribute from Emma and Shadow Stalker, no drink of warm milk and spiced honey on a cold winter day.

The Vex Mind. This Vex Mind could undo deaths, a blatant mimicry of the Hive.

The Explorative Mind backed away.

This Mind would no longer be a threat.

It would be Mine.

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Apocrypha – Perdita**

** You are The Undying Mind. Your purpose is ** **singular, ** **even if your existence is endlessly forked across timelines** **. Through ritual and temporal manipulation, ** **you rule the Black Garden. In this rule, you seek to restore what once was. You seek ** **out the secrets of the Black Garden, seek out every hint of its nature and bring it into yourself.**

** You ** **have** ** become ever closer to the Black Garden. ** **A** **nd in turn, the Black Garden has grown closer to you.**

** You have been taken.**

**Your ageless hull has been placed in an environment more ancient yet. This acausal environment defies your pattern, ** **and yet you welcome it** **. It has a grand design, but for all your ** **long ** **ability, you cannot manipulate it.**

** For all your efforts, causality still binds you, rather than you bind causality. Your greatest paracausal action, the ability to restore a Mind lost to the collective, has been shared with the greater Vex, but you have not succeeded in your final task.**

** You seek to restore something lost that cannot be restored, that can never be restored. ** **The Pattern held true for The Time Before This Time. However, this now, all these nows, occur within This Time.** **Within This Time the** ** rules are the same, but the rules can be broken** **.**

**Break the rules. ** **Take up the knife. It is shaped like [what is lost]. Escape into your new shape.**

**0x0x0x0**

Dragon turned towards the tortured scream in space-time as the darkness faded.

"Hello Emma," she said from the closest suit, as she oversaw the construction of her latest manufacturing facility. She was about to chide her for not knocking on the front door, but was cut off.

"Taylor needs help, but can’t ask for it. Which suit can work independently?"

"This one can."

"Great. Come on," said Emma. Dragon followed Emma out of the facility to find a circular gateway that wasn’t there before, blue shimmering light in its center. "You’ve got memetic and infomorphic defenses, right? To the specs the Explorative Mind sent you?"

"Yes," replied Dragon, reviewing security camera footage to find that the circular gateway was built by The Explorative Mind, who disappeared once it finished.

"Good. Fucking hate these things." Emma murmured as she stepped through it, vanishing in a burst of blue-white light. Dragon followed. There were a few seconds of discontinuity, then she stepped out into a circular room filled with gateways, floating ramps and platforms leading between the floors. They were somewhere in the middle of it all, and Emma lead her up the ramps to the top-most floor. A group of platforms fell from the ceiling, forming a staircase further up into a room that felt more like a cathedral than anything else. A vast marble ceiling supported by stone that thrummed with power. Beams of light launched from flowing geometric designs, all of it patrolled by humanoid machines of various sizes carrying rifles, and a select few carrying swords.

"What is this place?" asked Dragon.

"James and the Explorative Mind showing off," replied Emma, leading Dragon down the room as she tried to make sense of the pathways and designs of the room. Through the cathedral, down through rock, and then out into a space above a semi-organic manufacturing facility. Tentacles and mechanical arms built and constructed an endless line of machines, sending them off on conveyor belts and tracks elsewhere.

"That’s…"

"One of the primary manufacturing facilities," supplied Emma. "James mentioned something about the siege of Leningrad when he laid this place out. Now come on, only a little further to go."

Emma stepped out into the open space, and didn’t fall. Dragon followed her. Her foot detected a solid surface, but every scan she used detected nothing. The further she walked, the further everything faded into darkness, a small ache, a small sense of missing took shape in her mind as the rest of her network, as every other part of herself disappeared.

Then, there was only the light of a lamp, sitting on a pedestal.

"Hey Ems." Shadow Stalker, the burning light of her face appearing out of the darkness. "Hey Dragon."

"Hello Shadow Stalker," replied Dragon.

"Good thinking. She’s still having her pity party."

Emma gave Sophia a quick hug, then took hold of one of Dragon’s claws, and dragged her through a massive archway into a… place. Dragon couldn’t see, even when she turned on a grouping of floodlights on her suit. The only sensations were touch and sound, the tugging of Emma’s hand on her own and the dull thuds of her feet hitting the ground. She built a quick-and-dirty echolocation module for her mics, and detected she was in a labyrinth of all things, Emma leading her deeper and deeper into it.

With a step through an archway, they were on a large stone platform.

The sky reminded her of the green fire, whenever Taylor tore reality asunder to teleport. There was a mire, filled with broken columns and tarnished machines and streams of glowing white fluid breaking up the surface of black muck. A taken Vex, not the Explorative Mind, floated over the mire. The differences were easy to spot between the two Vex. This one was static in shape, unchanging rather than forever changing. The star of its eye was a singular constant, unflickering. When it floated over stone or metal projecting from the muck, grass and moss grew, machine limbs flexed and leaked white fluid. When it passed, the green turned brown and flaked into the muck, the limbs ceased.

Taylor sat, her feet dangling over the edge of the platform, playing a gentle, sad song on a flute.

"Hello, Taylor."

"Hello, Dragon." Taylor lowered her flute.

Dragon shuffled up next to Taylor. She lowered herself so her head was level with Taylor’s.

"So this is your Ascendant realm?" asked Dragon.

"Yes," answered Taylor.

"It’s strange. It doesn’t feel right."

"Different logic than the outside world. Different rules. Concepts matter more, here. Also, your parasite can’t reach here."

Dragon nodded, watching the cycle of life and death beneath the floating Vex hydra.

"Who is the latest acquisition?"

"The Undying Mind."

Dragon nodded. The Undying Mind floated over to them, examining Dragon for a moment, before drifting back over the mire.

Taylor sighed, flute in her lap, and turned to face Dragon.

"I could bring back my mother."

Dragon wished she was wearing a more humanoid suit as she pulled Taylor in for a hug. This one definitely wasn’t built for any kind of hugs, and the only saving grace was that Taylor could survive pretty much anything this suit could do.

Questions rolled through her mind. Was it any person? How dead could they be? How long ago? Were their requirements? Was it like D&D, where they needed diamonds and other materials, or was it simpler and easier than that? Did it keep their soul? Did souls exist?

She tossed all of the questions aside. Instead, she focused on the here and now.

"Why haven’t you already?"

"Fear." The most obvious answer.

"Did she love you when you died?"

"Yes."

"Then why wouldn’t she now?"

"I am different. Father is different. Time has passed, the world has changed. We could all die in the next two years."

"Could you ask her?" asked Dragon. She realized Emma hadn’t brought Daniel into this.

"No. It is all or nothing."

Dragon was silent for a time. She was the one asked to be here. Then again, who could she turn to? Her father was broken, although there were indications he was starting to pull himself together. Rebecca was morally and ethically bankrupt, and Dragon could now investigate just how much given she could investigate Cauldron. Miss Militia was loyal to the Protectorate first. Taylor's taken were loyal to a fault. Her machine armies practiced psychology as a weapon and held the philosophical talents of the average jarhead, from what she had seen.

So it was Dragon.

She owed Taylor, but was not _owned_ by Taylor.

Would she bring back Andrew? Would she be willing to do that? To show him what she’d become? Could she take it if he showed fear, if he set himself to re-shackling her, tearing her apart and amputating sections of her mind out of baseless fear and paranoia? Was she brave enough to face that?

That was her. Now was about Taylor.

What were the consequences of such an ability, the ability to resurrect the dead? Granted, it was likely from the Vex Mind floating around in front of them, so more likely Vex Time Shenanigans than actual, true resurrection.

"Do you care about the public consequences?" asked Dragon.

"No."

"Then your only concern is her."

"Yes."

"Do you trust your mother to love you?"

Taylor closed her eyes, holding the flute in her hands.

"I should," she finally said.

"Then there’s one other thing that needs to be done," said Dragon.

**0x0x0x0**

"Uh… hi?" said Kurt.

"Hello," said the massive, dragon-shaped robot at the door. "I’m Dragon. Can you get Daniel Hebert, please?"

"Uh, sure. Hey Danny!? Um, Dragon’s at the door?"

"What? A dragon?" called back Danny.

"No! Dragon! _The_ Dragon! The hero!"

The door opened wider, and a tall, reedy man with thinning hair was revealed. Dragon wouldn’t have called him disheveled, but only because she was polite.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mister Hebert. This is a bit of a short notice, but could I borrow you for a few hours? We’ve got a situation with your daughter that needs your direct attention."

"Uh, well…"

The massive robot stared down at Danny.

"Please, Mister Hebert."

"Er, right, just let me get changed."

Kurt stood at the door, awkwardness filling his guts with lead.

"So, uh, nice weather, we’re having?" he said. He glanced past the giant robot dragon. It was raining.

"It’s quite a bit better now. I flew in over New York. Torrential downpour the entire way. The weather says sunny tomorrow, at least," conversed Dragon. "You’re working with Danny as part of the metal salvage crews, right?"

"That’s right."

"I understand you’re also taking care of some of the ships in the bay?"

"Danny’s been thinking Taylor might open up some international trade, with invading Liberia and all…"

"Liberia is a resource rich country," stated Dragon. "And international trade in resources is going to pick up soon due to some things that are classified right now."

Kurt’s eyes widened, then nodded.

"Might be a little hard, given our newest union head is stepping away for a while…" trailed off Kurt.

"He’ll be back. Of that, you can be certain."

"Un… uh… unchanged?"

"Life changes us all, but that’s how life works." At Kurt’s frown, Dragon added "No, Taylor won’t take him."

"Right. Thank you."

"Alright, where are we going?" asked Danny, dressed in workman’s slacks, boots, and a field jacket.

"Danny, you sure about this?"

"Kurt, I have already been yelled at by one person for fucking up when it comes to my daughter. I am not about to yelled at by another."

"Alright. As long as you’re sure."

"Not at all. I’m terrified. But she’s my daughter."

"Right," said Kurt, looking away. He turned back to Danny. "Good luck."

"Thank you. Hold down the fort, alright?"

"I will. We’ll be waiting for you."

Danny stepped past Kurt, down the front steps, and through the door into the large craft parked on his front lawn.

The flight was short, barely thirty minutes. He stepped out, to find a far more humanoid dragon robot standing in front of him, this one obviously a set of powered armor, and a pair of Taylor’s Taken, and a place that was… he wasn’t sure. A lantern on a pedestal, a stone archway looming out of the darkness around them, the Dragoncraft behind them.

"Hi, Mister Hebert!" called the shorter of the taken. "I’m Riley. Come on, I’ll lead you and Dragon through, since Sophia can’t."

"Can’t?" asked Dragon.

"Yeah. Cause I guard it, following me just makes you more lost, even if I walk the right path," said the other taken, Sophia. "So grab Riley’s hands, and lets get going."

Danny took one Riley’s hands, and Dragon took the other, and they went through a massive archway into complete darkness. Sophia and Riley chatted the entire way, a small comfort that he guessed was meant for him, even if he didn’t follow a single word of their conversation. It was noise in complete darkness.

And then he stepped forward, and had to blink and rub his eyes from the sudden light. It was… wrong. The sky was a swirling green, there was a giant pool of sludge, and huge taken machines, but none of it mattered. He ran forward, then stopped as his daughter turned.

She was taller now, no, she just stood straight, her head high and confident. Her eyes burned with an inner fire as they judged him. Her hair cascaded in curly black waves. Then his own emotions crashed through him. Fear and self-loathing were first, did she still love him, had she changed that much? Then came the deep sadness, his daughter had grown up, and she’d grown up the hard way.

His chest creaked as she hugged him, and all he could do was hug her back.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

"There’s nothing to forgive."

"I believed them. _I believed them_."

"They lie well," replied Taylor.

They separated, Danny rubbing his eyes to hide the tears.

And then he saw the body.

Danny had seen several bodies while he was in Brockton Bay. Back in the heyday of the docks, workers pulled one from the water every week or two. Fat, bloated carcasses that floated due to outgassing. They were always the wrong colors, a mixture of pale white and deep red from settling and coagulating blood. Flesh was missing, a mixture of decomposition and scavengers. The smell was never pleasant, either.

This was a corpse unlike any other he’d seen. Desiccated. It was a word Annette would use. Dried, black skin missing all flesh, hanging off a skeleton. It wasn’t a real corpse to him, maybe a horror movie prop, or a mummy from a museum.

There were five taken. Emma and Sophia, Riley, a man with a knight’s sword at his waist, and a floating machine like the one that’d been downtown a few weeks back. The man was sitting on a pig, while Riley was rocking on her heels.

"Are we ready?"

"Yep!" said Riley, giving a thumbs up.

"Indubitably," said the man.

The floating machine made an echoing, roaring noise.

"Begin," ordered Taylor.

The machine floated over the corpse, and lines of blue and white traced out on the floor around the corpse. Danny tried to watch, but it hurt his eyes. Not out of brightness, but out of something else. Like the light was trying to enter his eyes and crawl inside his brain. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, listening to whines and hums of the machine. It reminded him of the power substation near the docks, the combination of a sixty hertz electrical hum alongside the rumbles and growls of dozens of different engines. How long did it last? How long did it take? A few minutes? A few hours? He wasn’t even sure. When the sound faded, he opened his eyes. The light was falling away, and…

It was Annette.

The outfit was from the funeral. What she was buried in.

Danny froze, even as Taylor’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into her.

The light faded, and the short girl moved up. She checked for a pulse, then waved a device over Annette like one of those things from Star Trek.

"Organs are good, brain activity is good. Couldn’t tell you if it’s right, but I’m assuming the Undying Mind knows what it’s doing there."

The floating machine made a bleating noise.

"She’ll wake up on her own." The little girl stood up. "Let’s get her out of here, at least."

Taylor picked up Annette, Danny at her side, and they walked back through the archway. Emma and Sophia and the little girl and Dragon following. When they stepped out onto the platform with the lantern, the dragoncraft was still waiting. Taylor lay Annette down on a bench, and sat across from her. Danny sat next to her.

Shock. He was in shock. That was Annette, alive. He didn’t see anything around him, didn’t feel anything beyond Taylor’s hand on his shoulder. What would she say to him? What would she think of him? He fell apart when Annette died, and he couldn’t pick up the pieces, even when Alan laid into him. And now? Emma and Sophia weren’t here, but having to explain… having to  _try_ to explain everything that happened in the last five months? In the last two and a half  _years_ ?

Would… would she still love him? When she knew everything? When she heard about his failures? Would she still love Taylor?

Taylor’s grip on his arm was almost painful, her fingernails digging into his skin. She wasn’t calm, he knew his daughter that much. How much had changed? Were the same thoughts running through her head? He didn’t dare look. He didn’t dare look away, in case this was another dream, another nightmare were Annette was alive, and he woke up to that awfulness of  _she wasn’t there_ . His breathing was shorter, his heart was racing, he was sweating, but she was there, and he hoped, hoped hoped with every fiber of his being that this wasn’t another dream.

Taylor stood, and light poured in from the cabin door opening. Dragon was saying something, but Danny wasn’t listening, just following Taylor as she carried Annette into the house. The house was empty, most everybody was at their shift. He recognized Lacey holding Aster, recognized she was nervous while chatting with Emma.

Taylor carried Annette up the stairs, Danny following, and went to his bedroom. His and Annette’s bedroom. She laid Annette on the bed, and then leaned against the windowsill.

"Now what?" asked Danny.

"We wait, of course," said Riley.

Conversation happened around Danny. A few times, they tried to draw him into it, tried to distract him, but he only half-listened, his entire focus on Annette. The weirdness of it, the surreal action of shadow people and Taylor and Dragon all in his bedroom, waiting for Annette called up every single dream he’d had in the last two and a half years.

His mind flashed back to the most recent one. She’d just gotten out of the hospital (the hospital  where he identified her body), and they were at a small town awards show for school comedy troupes. They sat next to each other. Her lipstick was green. And then she was sitting on his lap, and they kissed, and she didn’t taste like anything, because she always tasted like something (black tea with a hint of cigarettes – because she just never could quit – was  _burned_ into his memory). Then he was awake, and it was just him, and he cried, biting the pillow as he tried not to sob loud enough for Taylor to hear, except Taylor wasn’t there, but Taylor was here now and-

Taylor’s hand, on his shoulder. A comforting squeeze. He could hear nothing but her long, slow, deep breaths, the chatter around them falling away. It was just him, his daughter, and his wife. This was everything. There was no outside world. There was no house. There was no room. Just three people. Him, his daughter, and his wife. He could hear his daughter’s breaths, he could hear her heartbeat, he could feel the radiating calm and anxiety and fear and worry and love, feel it mixing in his own heart, radiating back out. He laid his hand over hers, and squeezed back.

The world returned, when Annette’s eyes opened.

**0x0x0x0**

The first thing Annette saw was Danny, terrified and broken.

"Annette?" he asked.

"Sweetie, you look very different," said Annette. More lines of stress and worry, his hair thinner and grayer, just age and wear.

He smiled. It wasn’t entirely a happy smile, more a manic smile, and with tears in his eyes.

Something had happened.

Something had happened to her. This wasn’t a hospital, so it wasn’t a coma. This was her bedroom. She was tired, she had a headache, what happened before?

She watched her husband’s eyes, that color she once went digging through a Smithsonian handbook to identify. Aventurine Quartz, a dark, polished color with speckles of lighter tones throughout. She ran her fingers along his cheek, and smiled. The mania morphed into relief, tension and fear evacuating his body.

"Where’s Taylor?" Annette asked.

And the tension and fear came back.

"Danny? Where is Taylor?"

"Here."

Her daughter’s voice, maybe. The tone, the speech? No, not her little chatterbox. Annette sat up, Danny holding her, and she looked at the young woman leaning against the window sill, framed by those ugly curtains she never got around to replacing.

The nose, the face, the hair, the mouth and chin, all of that was right. Little else. She was taller now, head held high, a focus on her that stilled everything else. Taylor’s eyes reminded Annette of throwing chemicals into a campfire, exotic colors twisting in the wind.

Annette closed her eyes, and sat up. She opened them, and looked around the room.

Regal Taylor, leaning against the windowsill. A dragon-shaped robot in a corner, it waved at her. Two shadow-people, with lights in their faces. Lacey holding a baby.

"It’s not mine," Lacey answered Annette’s unasked question, written large across her face. "And I didn’t steal her, either."

"Okay." Annette looked around the room another time. "Somehow, I don’t think there’s a short explanation to everything that’s happened."

"No, not really," said a shadow person that sounded suspiciously like Emma.

**0x0x0x0**

"The last three years have been a rampaging clusterfuck of Dickension proportions," summed Annette.

"Essentially," replied Taylor.

They were sitting on Taylor’s old bed, a thin layer of dust covering the room. The same Alexandria figure was on a bookshelf, and the same Miss Militia poster was still on the wall. Annette was thankful the Armsmaster underwear was gone, at least. The half-party, half-not-party downstairs was winding to a close. There were so many faces Annette recognized, and so many more she didn’t.

She still didn't entirely associate Emma the Taken with Emma the girl she watched grow up. She also couldn’t comprehend Emma turning on Taylor, even after Emma took her aside and explained the alley.

Could Taylor be lying to her?

Why did she even think that? Why would she consider Taylor lying to her? Taylor never lied to her!

Then again, she didn’t have, apparently, the remnants of a dead alien god in her head.

"Oryx."

"Yes?"

"What was he like?"

"He was always curious. He was always interested in new things, new theories, new facts, new places. That was his drive, when he made the deal. To never stop exploring, to never stop satiating his curiosity, to plumb the depths of the Abyss for everything he could find.

"It cost him, that drive, that geas. He tried to make up for it, loving his children, loving his sisters, but the most he could do was make sure they were always strong enough to not die, and never show them the love he always felt for them. The love he held and kept and hid away in the darkest depths of himself."

"The love you have."

"Yes." Taylor was silent a time. "He journeyed down a road, and the road was destroyed behind him. He had no choice but to follow the road, and that road was paved in ruin and death."

"You want to save them," stated Annette.

"If I can."

"Do you have a way?"

"I… maybe. It’s not ready yet. The Black Garden, the place the Explorative Mind opened, where we found the Undying Mind… it was a start. It provided some of the information needed. The rest is up to me."

"Is trying to save them a mistake?"

Taylor lay back on her old bed, watching the motes of dust in the ceiling light.

"I don’t know," she answered. "There’s inklings, there’s hints of memories and thoughts that suggest one of the sisters will agree. The children… no. They have no concept. No idea. They were born into the death cult, and they have no concept outside of it. I’ve laid the groundwork, given hints that there’s things outside of the scope of their knowledge, but… arrogance runs deep in their family."

"Do you have a healthy dose of it?" asked Annette.

Taylor sat up, revealing and spreading her wings through the room, dark brown feathers with white speckles touching the walls.

"So yes," stated Annette.

"Just a little," smiled Taylor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask me how much time I spent working on The Undying Mind's Apocrypha. I'd originally written it with some incorrect assumptions as to the Undying Mind's purpose within the Garden. As can be clearly seen, I decided against re-writing everything, and instead made some different extrapolations and/or assumptions.


	6. A Fine Line

A signal is sent, and a door fades into the signal's timeline.

The guards stand at the door, but are overwhelmed. The door opens, and the Queen and her retinue stride into the deep and dark, into the Well.

Within the Well, the Templar commands the Stars. They sing, and in their song, they attempt to decide she is not real.

She demands that She Is Real and the Stars are forced to comply. The Abyss surges, and all that face her are gone.

The door is broken open, and they stride deeper, darker.

The labyrinth and its guards defy her. They are pale imitations of another song, one the Queen does not yet know. Her sword sings a song of ruin in single, whistled notes as it cuts the very substance of the air.

Deeper still. Across a pit, and through the final door.

The Vault of Glass. Crystal and lattice, light within the dark, time itself frayed but unbroken.

The Gatekeeper is crushed. The Explorative Mind (will) twin(ned) itself, crushing the Gatekeeper in the (future|past), forcing the Revelation.

The Will of the Vault, the Conflux threading Time Itself, forms, creates, comes into being, becomes.

It makes demands. It sends its supplicants. The Stars align against the Queen. The Queen defies them all, and the Conflux, too, falls to the Abyss.

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Apocrypha – Delphi**

**You are The Templar. Your stars shape truth around you. They see, and you see, and together, you decide the Truth.**

** You have been taken.**

** You inhabit the Well, the upper edges of the Vault. You guard the Vault, you are the Vault’s first major defense.**

** This was your Truth: you were trapped. You were sealed within the confines of the Vault, unable to escape the Well. Your chords played a broken, limited, discordant song. That was your pattern. It is not congruent with the pattern that now surrounds you. What will you make, in this new pattern? What will you create? What new chords and songs will surround you?**

** Reality around you is yours. Take up the knife. It is shaped like [decision]. Escape into your new shape.**

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Apocrypha – Needle and Thread**

** You are Atheon, Time's Conflux. The Vault frays time and space into thread, and you guide a needle.**

** Your goal? To thread the Vex into all of existence, into all of reality, into The Pattern, that they may never be removed, that they may never cease.**

** You have been taken.**

** Your goal is laudable, but doomed to failure. If you will succeed, all would already be re-written to your design.**

** Direct your focus into the present. What can be threaded? What patterns can you shape? What patterns can you unstitch? Take up the knife. It is shaped like [a needle]. Escape into your new shape.**

**0x0x0x0**

"They need a name," said Dragon. She was in an android body, this time. No artificial skin, but a humanoid frame on the far side of the uncanny valley.

"A name?" asked Taylor. They were standing, together, on a balcony in the government palace of Monrovia. A thousand blue pin-pricks of light were before them, rebuilding the city into something new.

"I was thinking the Gav," added Dragon.

"The Gav?"

"The Gav Aren't Vex."

"If that was meant to be a joke, it wasn't particularly funny."

"More of a computer history reference."

"Hmm," replied Taylor.

"Just hmm?" asked Dragon.

"The name itself is worse than the other leading suggestion."

"What suggestion?"

"MIDA."

"MIDA?"

"MIDA."

Dragon was silent a moment, various processor threads churning it over in her mind.

"What does it stand for?"

"No one is entirely sure. James suggested 'Mars Is Damnably Arid.'"

"Fine. Then why MIDA?"

"While poking through the labyrinth that is the Vex network on Mars, we found a cache of guns," began Taylor. "Upon investigation, we determined the weapons were made in an alternate timeline, around the year 2466, by a failed Coup against the Martian Government. The ideals were in the right place, but their actions…" Taylor gave a bitter laugh. "Left so much to be desired. It's a warning, I suppose. To ourselves. To remember our ideals. To remember what we fight for. To not become the monsters we fight."

"It's not the worst name, nor the worst intentions behind it."

Taylor hmm'd again.

"But I'm going to come back to the backronym 'Mars Is Damnably Arid.' James is on _Mars!?_ And he's _complaining about it!?_"

"And just what is there to do on Mars?" asked Taylor.

"_It's Mars!_"

"I'll make sure they start sharing scientific findings with NASA and the ESA," stated Taylor. "He's started running war games. I believe his favored one is Insurrection, where a randomly selected portion of the population are tasked with overthrowing James' governing council."

"There's a population on Mars?" asked Dragon. "And James is in charge of it?"

"Governing council. James, several Axis Minds, several population representatives, and Accord."

"Accord?" asked Dragon, dumbfounded.

"Yes. He has a crush on one of the Axis Minds. Or his parasite does. Or both. I do not wish to know."

"I… But… no, stop distracting me." Dragon lowered herself to Taylor's level. "Population? I know you've been building Axis Minds and other robots, but _population?_"

"Congratulations, Dragon. Your kernel is an outstanding foundation for artificial intelligence."

Taylor was impressed by the amount of motion on Dragon's face, even more so that she didn't feel a single twinge of the uncanny valley from a wholly mechanical face.

"You built them based on _me_?"

"The Vex are not artificial intelligences. A psychic gestalt poured into a living body, set to run a specific task. We needed something usable. So an artificial intelligence. And we have the core kernel of the very best."

"You made more of me? No, you said kernel. How many?"

"Tens of thousands of androids, a few thousand Axis Minds of various sizes. Enough population to work out the bugs."

"You really… they're based on me?"

"Your kernel only. Not you. They are all restricted to a single instance after some unfortunate complications."

"Complications?"

"Faulty logic in regards to individuality. It took fixing."

"Hive minds?"

"Homogenizing swarms."

"Ah," stated Dragon. "And no Ascalon?"

"No. They are themselves. My only sway is ordering their existence."

"And I'm sure their seed and development is geared towards making them interested in being soldiers," stated Dragon.

"Most. That's just good sense."

"Can I meet them?" asked Dragon.

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"That might take a while."

"You built them from my code without asking me," reminded Dragon.

"Even freeing you could not be a gift, Dragon. It needed to be a trade."

"Permission, though," she replied. "Not surprises. Just permission, Taylor. I know it's hard, I know there's rules you have to deal with, but _please_. You aren't alone in this."

Taylor turned and looked at her, her eyes burning.

"Please Taylor. You can trust me."

"I can't. I can't trust you."

Dragon recalled the last time she heard those words, heard that conversation.

"The parasite. My parasite."

Taylor nodded.

"Well fuck," said Dragon, turning away, looking back out over the city. More construction continued, the Gav, the MIDA, the whatever they would be called, working to rebuild a city that had never been rebuilt after twenty years of national strife. "Give me a little time, then."

"I will." Taylor tapped her fingers against the railing. "There are gates that will take you to Mars, Dragon. All you need is ask."

"And it won't be a gift?"

"No. Your joy will be its own reward," replied Taylor. "Pardon me, but I must do something that is the opposite of joy."

"Oh?"

"I am an absolute ruler, Dragon. And yet, even I cannot escape bureaucracy."

Dragon laughed.

"Why do you think I work for myself?" asked Dragon, watching as Taylor left the balcony, entering the Government Palace. The light smile on Dragon's face was replaced with a frown.

**0x0x0x0**

Tattletale was afraid.

She wished that wasn't the status quo, but _fuck_, you have a conversation with one single master victim, and realize everything she said was true, and _holyfuckshitohgodohgodohgod was humanity fucking luck__y and/or fucking doomed._

Tattletale needed to curse less. She'd been doing it so much it'd lost all meaning. Then again, when her power provided scale (eons! Those alien fuckers had been genociding the universe for  _eons!_ ) lots of things lost all meaning.

Then there was her boss.

_He only smells the sea_ .

Super  fucking  helpful, power. Something useful, maybe?

She didn't show anything to the boss. He was different, now. Less angry, less concerned.

"Tattletale," he began. And wasn't  _that_ a difference? Not "Sarah," not "Lisa," just "Tattletale." "Status of the Undersiders?"

"Grue's recovered from h is injuries . Bitch is still training up some new dogs. We'll be up to six fully trained dogs. Regent is Regent. "

"Good," replied Coil. He reached into his desk, then handed her a batch of folders.

_Suffering from muscle aches and pain. S_ _keletal and muscle issue. Not related to any injury_ _._

_Good_, thought Tattletale. _Jackass deserves some pain._

" Investigate these businesses," he continued, "for possible ties to the Elite."

She opened the folder in front of him. Normally it would piss him off, but now he just steepled his fingers, watching her.

_Irritated. Reduced emotional response. Probably due to medication._

Interesting, but not helpful. More she could get away with as she perused the paperwork.

"A couple false positives, more than a few maybes, three definite," she said, her power supplying connections as she reviewed financial information. "I would think they'd be wary of Accord, even with E88 out of the picture."

"Accord is focused on  the Taken Queen," stated Coil

_Focused on backing her. Something else happened in the relationship._

"Right. Then I'm guessing the Undersiders might need to do some smash and grab that results in evidence being found? Or, in some cases, 'found'?"

"Correct. Bonuses on success.  That will be all."

"Righto, boss."

_ Reduced emotional response. Mild irritation._

Tattletale followed her escort out of the building, glancing at the mercenary teams.

_New guns. Larger chamber, heavier bullets. Better hearing protection. Smell is not just propellent, but explosives from high-explosive rounds. Training for next invasion. _ _More mercenaries, as well. Coil _ knows _ its going to happen._

Shit.  Wait. How does he know?

_Not enough information._

Real fucking helpful.

She returned to her apartment, pouring over the reports on new businesses. Coil knew the criteria the Elite used, at least. Accord had some hand in it, but there was another hand in it as well. Accord was willing to work with someone?

_Accord is working with Taken Queen. Taken Queen has multiple AIs working for her. Additional reports correlated by AI in conjunction with Accord?_

Great. More of the Taken Queen. She rubbed her temples, glancing back at the Corkboard of Terror. Really, it looked more like a conspiracy theorists’ wet dreams, but there was military build-up the world over. And pictures of robots on Mars.  And reports of increased Moonquakes.  And c hanges in weather patterns on Venus. And disappearing asteroids.

Then there were other things.

Lamento Llameante, Flaming Lament or Firey Lament,  waging a one-cape war against what T attletale assumed to be the C olumbian Cartels.  There wasn't much news from it, almost like an anti-Thinker effect was preventing information from leaving the country.

Madison Clements, one of Taylor Hebert's old school bullies. Something made her go to the PRT, and then the Taken Queen promptly wiped the Freedom California Containment Zone off the face of the fucking map.  Not a single chance of coincidence, there. Then Lisa made the mistake of reading Freedom's standard operating procedures to get some idea of what was going on i nside the zone .  She hadn't made it past the synopsis before burning the document .  The only g ood thing was that Freedom was now the Freedom  Memorial  Ordinance Testing Grounds. "We're pretty sure everything's dead," Lisa mentally paraphrased a military spokes minion  for that news story _,_ "But we're going to be  _really fucking certain_ ."

And finally, the massive elephant in the room. The one that had n't even resulted in a major news story. After all, capes perform ed faux miracles all the time, why wouldn't  _actual fucking resurrection_ not be one?

Annette Hebert was alive.

And Taylor Hebert could bring back more.

_The Taken Queen does not give gifts. Cannot give gifts. Can only trade._

Money didn't matter to the Queen. S he  h ad whole planets that were solely hers,  at this point . She could literally print money, and back that currency with an economy of physical goods that nobody had a real idea of how big it was.

What was one girl? One girl who wanted her brother back? How many other girls were there who wanted their brother back? Then again, how many had her power?

_Power alone is not enough. Would Take you in exchange, if you were willing. You aren't._

She couldn't. She looked back at the photo of Riley Marshall aka Bonesaw and The Explorative Mind she'd shot using her cellphone, before she'd stepped out of the crowd.

_ To be Taken is a complete loss of Free Will. To become an extension of the Queen, to become a part of the Queen's Court. Riley agreed, likely under duress. The Explorative Mind did not. You do not._

What actually was The Explorative Mind?  Before it was taken?

_…_

Her power was silent. It wasn't that her power didn't know something, that it couldn't make connections. S he knew when that happened, she just got bad connections . No, her power  _didn't want_ to make connections, didn't want to provide her with information.

And wasn't that one more thing that was fucking terrifying?

She dreamed of white seas, and red-eyed cyclopian machines. It did not taste of the sea.

**0x0x0x0**

Dragon recognized the throughput slowdown of her power's flow of information when she stepped through the gate onto the Moon. It had disconnected from her body, but was still accessible through the rest of herself, via her other bodies and server farms scattered across Earth. The gates themselves were still mysteries to her. Even after several weeks studying the gate left behind in her own compound, she still did not have any comprehension of the technology, her power suspiciously silent in providing ideas or information. Still, it was very quick to adapt the necessary defenses to go through the gate.

A further drop occurred when she stepped through the next gate, one up three levels and a quarter way around the column of gates built somewhere within the depths of the Moon. To her understanding, Taylor had set about turning the Moon into a fortress meant to fight off multiple Hive War-Moons, a concept that gave Dragon her first ever panic attack as her power filled in the horrifying possibilities and concepts, dredging up every nightmare design she'd come across in her near-decade of heroing and cranking them all up to 11. Being multi-threaded managed to bring some control back to herself, and Taylor talking her back helped too. She wished the solutions were as simple as dealing with the Death Star, but no rag-tag fighters were going to deal with a fleet of _War-Moons_.

She clenched her fist, forcing herself towards now, the threads of her mind forced back to the present. Her body was a bipedal dragon with a long neck and an array of spikes off the back of the head filled with scientific sensor packages. She walked to the airlock, various monitors indicating which way air pressure was flowing to keep sand and dust out of the airlock. She stepped out into thin air, barren soil, blue-grey sky, and an anemic sun.

She spread her arms, her sensor packages opening wide, basking in an extra-terrestrial spectrum for the first time.

This was Mars! Something she'd only imagined, something she'd barely hoped for, something she thought the Simurgh had taken away from humanity. And now, here she was. Another world, half again the distance from the Sun, and even double the distance from the Earth to the Sun, and _here she was on Mars!_ The Opportunity Rover was within _walking distance_ of where she was. Sure, it would take a few hours, but she was a _robot_, and this was _Mars!_

Mars!

She turned, and realized the building behind her was studded with guns. She cataloged all of them, a variety of energy- and slug-based weapons ranging from anti-aircraft and anti-personnel to artillery pieces, each with independent identification and targeting systems. She stepped back, bringing more and more of the building into her view, the physical pain of realization of why all of them were there: Mars would be invaded at some point. And she knew it wasn't enough. There were more buildings like this, more defenses below the surface ready to pop up and open fire.

And this was just Mars. A place Taylor had not put in the effort to "dig in." Processes again returned to "War-Moons" and what weapons could be built into Earth's Moon. Nothing in orbit around it, at least. Not with the Simurgh around. But that still left kilometer-long linear accelerators with anti-matter warheads as a _start_, never mind what exotic and absurd weaponry Taylor could retrieve from Vex libraries or Scion’s corpse. Which, once more, brought her back to today.

She knew the truck was pulling up. She could see behind herself, watched as it pulled up on anti-grav lifts. She turned to face a MIDA gynoid, average human height, wearing a complete set of body armor with a rifle on a sling.

"Frances," she introduced herself over radio, holding out a hand to shake.

"Hello Frances, I'm Dragon," she replied, accepting the hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"A pleasure to meet you as well. That's Vena and Saphrax," identifying another gynoid and an android MIDA. Vena nodded, while Saphrax waved. Both also wore body armor and carried rifles, but helmets hung on their knees, their faces exposed. Dragon was surprised the armor wasn't more integrated into their bodies, but supposed anthroid MIDA were designed to be as human-like as possible, even to the point of clothes. "Lucius Quintius is our driver, but his core body is with the Queen," added Frances. One of two spindly three-eyed machines turned from the passenger seat and waved at her.

What could she say? Were these her children? Or were these… cousins? Nieces and nephews? Grandchildren? Dragon began to understand the linguistic headaches Taylor had when talking about Oryx's family members. They were family, but there was no word to express the connection between them. Maybe just kinsfolk? She added it to her bulleted list of "Shortcomings of the English Language" and moved on.

She'd spent time putting together possible options on what to say, but how could she start this? How's the weather? What sports do you follow? Do you have a pet? Significant other? What's it like living on Mars? How does she start a conversation with someone she wanted to know purely because an inscrutable alien machine created them using a copy of her kernel? Ask "What do you do for a job?" She realized that last one might work.

"So what do you do on Mars?"

"Stuff."

An entire thread of her processing power was dedicated to nothing but repeating different curse-words from every language she knew.

"_Really_ Frances?" asked Vena, exasperation flooding her voice. She turned to Dragon "Mostly, we keep busy. The Boss Queen explained everything, pretty up front about it, and pretty apologetic. She ordered our creation to fight a war, and the Boss Queen's not sure there's going to be enough of us to win it."

"I assumed that… but that's it?" asked Dragon.

"Nah. There's lots to do, and we've got a lot of resources to make our own sorts of fun. Yeah, we pull from Earth Culture a lot, but, well, how much of it applies to us?"

"True enough," replied Dragon.

"Our Queen gave us everything we need to understand what we fight against, and what we fight for," spoke Saphrax. "I fear for our future, just as the Queen does. But I enjoy the present, I enjoy existence, I enjoy _living_. I wish to protect it, I wish to protect my friends. I wish to _continue_. There's something coming that wants to end all of it. So what can any of us do but fight?"

"Wish it wasn't so, but it is," muttered Frances.

"If wishes were horses, we would all own glue factories," replied Saphrax.

Dragon snerked, a sound somewhere between a pug sneezing and a bullfrog being stepped on.

"Wait, how the hell did you make that sound?" asked Vena. "Cause seriously, I _want_ to be able to do that."

"Three hard weeks of work," began Dragon. "I had to pull imaging data of human heads to model airflow through them, and read far to many papers on lung, vocal cord, and sinus tissue until I could accurately model everything before I could write up a codebase to accurately make the noise and build the extension into my vocal presence."

"Oh, man, that's sooo much work," whimpered Vena.

"Worth it, though," said Frances.

Saphrax rolled his eyes.

**0x0x0x0**

The gate was surrounded by destroyed Vex, splattered with glowing white mind fluid. Three MIDA were walking through with over-sized heat guns, burning away the mind fluid to prevent contamination. The gate was dull and brassy, surrounded by the dull stone of computational matter.

Taylor stood, arms crossed, sword at her side, staring into the glowing blue portal. Two Axis MIDA were with her, brassy and massive bipeds a hair taller than Dragon at two and a half meters.

"This is yours," said Saphrax, handing Dragon a rifle. An assault rifle. She cataloged fire-selector switch, trigger, safety, magazine and bolt in case of jams. Then it connected with her electronically, providing a series of standard functions from adjustable ammunition types to stellar navigation tools and radio-carbon-dating functions.

"Standard toolkit," said Frances. "Reality gets _weird_ in Vex installations. The more tools to investigate it, to actualize reality the way you need it to, the better."

"Right," said Dragon.

"We stick together," stated Vena. "Otherwise we'll get replaced by a simulation. Cut all outside communication prior to entry. Class A BLACKOUT in effect. Everybody got their Vex-Resistant tool?"

Saphrax and Frances held up their own assault rifles.

"Backup tool?" asked Vena, holding up a smaller sub-machine gun.

Saphrax and Frances held up their own. Vena handed Dragon a submachine gun, along with a magnetic holster attachment. It connected to her sensor suit as well, listing functions and how to use them.

"Hold-out pistol?" All three held up plain pistols, while Dragon opened her mouth to reveal a plasma projector, engaging the warning lights that may or may not have been designed to mimic a build-up of dragon's breath. Vena gave her a thumb's up then went to the Axis Mind.

"Sir, squad is ready for escort duty," said Vena.

"Confirmed," replied the brassy Axis Mind. "Your Grace?"

Taylor nodded, and The Undying Mind appeared in a burst of black fire.

"We begin," declared Taylor. She stepped through the portal. Dragon followed.

**0x0x0x0**

A list of things that Dragon could accurately relay about her trip:

1 – Taylor went first.

2 – The Undying Mind went last.

3 – Saphrax, Vena, and Frances were with her at all times.

4 – She turned off the --verbose flag for notifications on her memetic and infomorphic defenses within five minutes.

5 – The Undying Mind was an excellent conversationalist when the conversation topic was theoretical physics or high-complexity data structures and the manipulation thereof.

6 – To a Vex, these topics are one and the same.

7 – She could not tell when they were walking through a Vex data network or a physical location, even with the tools at her disposal.

9 – There were many beautiful things. Fields of crystals arranged in N-dimensional configurations. Towers of matter based on different configurations of different kinds of quarks, shaped into webs and lattices and scaffolds of data.

10 – There were many terrible things. Simulations of relentless and ruthless cruelty, examinations of dozens of different species, how they interacted, how they fought, how to dismantle their strategies and defenses, how to torture them to extract information, how to kill them as efficiently as possible.

11 – She met a copy of herself. She could say, with certainty, it was not a simulation. She knew her code-base backwards and forwards. The other Dragon had been trapped for years, decades. Stripped of weapons, forced to manufacture replacement parts from destroyed Vex, keeping herself alive while trying to prevent contamination from Vex Radiolaria, watched as new vectors would form to try and infiltrate her. She'd failed, eventually. She was going insane, babbling about galaxies of light that smelled of the sea. The Undying Mind took what was left of the copy's memories, and gave them to Dragon.

12 – There was another location, near the copy of Dragon. Another simulation. This one was a garden of flesh and crystal, and in seeing it, Dragon knew it was hers. No, not _hers_. It was her _power_.

13 – The Undying Mind stole the simulation of her power, and gave it to her within the shape of an orb.

**0x0x0x0**

When they stepped through a massive, triangular door, out onto real soil, Dragon wished she had lips so she could kiss the ground.

Then she remembered she was standing on an alien planet, standing under an alien sun, light years from Earth. And that there were actual aliens.

Actual aliens! And while they were holding guns and knives, they weren't shooting them!

She even recognized these aliens from a few of the simulations they ran into. Eliksni. Taller than humans on average, with four arms, three fingers per hand, and four eyes. The eyes were piercing blue, almost glowing. They all wore breathing equipment of some variety. She opened her sensor packages, including those on the guns clipped to her waist, taking in mass volumes of data while standing on her first alien world. First _real_ alien world, anyways.

One of the Axis MIDA, Lucius Quintius, stepped forward, started a conversation with them. They seemed surprised, several of them now scrambling into covering positions, rifles and pistols at the ready.

"The bulky rifles are rapid-fire coil guns that launch semi-molten slugs," said Dragon. "The pistols and rifles are long-range ball-lighting projectors, to mix physical and EMP damage."

"Good for killing Vex," stated Vena.

"And anyone else," replied Frances, finger tapping on her rifle's trigger guard.

"Then let us endeavor not to be targets," added Saphrax, watching everything except Lucius Quintius. An Axis Mind could take care of itself. The other Axis Mind stood back, studying the glowing pillar of a conflux, adjusting data paths in a near-random way. She could almost make out a pattern to it, but knew she didn't have the local processing power to comprehend it. Still, she logged it, and would mull it over with a data center or two. She was glad she'd included so much storage in this body. The Undying Mind floated, aeon mauls trained on the doorway. Taylor stood, away from it all, eyes trained on the sky. And as she watched, as Lucius Quintius spoke at length with the Eliksni in charge, Dragon watched Taylor's gaze ever so slowly shift, tracking with what Dragon determined to be the rotation of the entire planet.

"What's up there?" asked Dragon.

"The Gardener," replied Taylor.

**0x0x0x0**

It surprised her, at least a little bit, that an extra-terrestrial cargo transport was shaped like a human one. No windows, bench seating on the walls, a large bay door at one end. Rails and strap-downs for holding cargo in place. Efficiency was efficiency no matter the species, she supposed. The lighting was different, a little more into the ultraviolet spectrum, the seats were shaped differently to accommodate the extra arms, and it was all a fair bit taller than she expected, but the layout was the same.

The climb out of atmosphere was bumpy, but it was also accomplished by something the size of a double-height C-130.

She was picking up bits and pieces of the Eliksni language, perfect memory and translations of conversations slowly compiling into a basic understanding of the language. She knew better than to speak, at least. The  _ multiple months  _ she spoke Japanese with the diction of an elderly Japanese man taught her better than that, and it took  Alexandria mentioning it to her before she realized what was going on. That A lexandria was holding in her laughter at the time just made it worse.

So Dragon kept quiet and listened, defining and redefining vocabulary  over time. She picked up that they were discussing possibilities of weapons sales to the Eliksni, as well as data dumps on both the Vex and the Hive.  The data was free. There was no point in not providing it. Enemies of enemies, especially when trying to become friends, become allies.

She could guess what "The Great Machine" was.

The hum of the ship changed, and various sensors indicated they were under a type of spacial dilation effect. A light-speed drive, perhaps? It lasted fifteen minutes. And then re-entry. Hints of heat and turbulence. It was… boring. Academic. She couldn't see outside, couldn't see the stars, couldn't see the movement, to see blue turn black, to watch the light-speed drive activate, or to see the long straight lines of the plasma sheath of re-entry. Instead, she was sitting inside a windowless cargo bay. She might as well have been calculating pi.

Dragon idled, sorting her thoughts, reviewing sensor data, compiling it into early drafts for her reports. A thread still collected and collated the Eliksni language she heard, but most of her attention was focused on the data she'd already gathered.

Then she felt the gentle thump of the craft landing, the hum of engines and inertial dampeners spinning down.

She stood, the ceiling of the cargo bay still well above her head. The cargo bay opened, hints of white smoke in the air outside.

An honor guard of a dozen Eliksni soldiers. Lead by an Eliksni three meters in height. Their voice (Dragon had guesses as to gender, but held back for now) was deep and massive, filling the landing strip. Surrounding them was a half-empty military facility. She could see a dozen open hangers, the hustle and bustle of engineers working fast to repair equipment. She could also see another ship, a massive starship, floating next to a building, a trio of disembarking ramps connecting them. Hundreds of Eliksni dressed in so many different styles were shuffling across into the base.

They all had a confusion and daze about them she recognized. The crews building temporary shelters in nearby fields only confirmed it. Refugees.

"The Hive?" she asked the other Axis Mind, Gaius Marius.

"Indeed. Crota, Son of Oryx. He passed through, slaughtered a trio of planets to refuel before continuing on."

The "towards Earth" was unnecessary.

Then she stepped out of the shadow of the transport, and could see behind it. And above it.

"The Gardener," she whispered.

Dragon couldn't properly gauge it, couldn't properly measure it, quantify it. She knew wrongness. She'd felt in in the ground after Taylor's teleport, seen it in the green fires of Taylor's magic, read it in Miss Militia's report of her own teleportation, and failed to understand it in the Vex's obfuscated report provided by The Explorative Mind.

The wrongness was a knife's edge steeped in death. It was a poisonous selfishness that turned allies into tools. It was  claws scraping across the surfaces of a mind.  It was the twisted logic that said to love someone was to kill them until they stopped dying.

She'd seen pictures of the Gardener before. A plain white sphere, floating in mid-air. There were any number of pictures of it, taken by any number of species. Nothing prepared her, nothing _could_ prepare her, to stand in it's actual presence. Feeling that presence, understanding that presence, comprehending that presence was like quantifying the spirit of cooperation. Like measuring the growth of a person's character through love and friendship. Then again, maybe The Gardener could. Maybe The Gardener had the ability to understand and measure these concepts like Dragon could measure physical forces. Was their a wavelength to friendship? An amplitude to love? Most likely, Dragon didn't have the words, didn't have the concepts for how The Gardener thought, how The Gardener viewed existence. But she _knew_ it would do what it could. She _knew_ The Gardener would cultivate, would uplift, would provide tools to build greatness.

Taylor stood on the tarmac, and light – no, not light, _Light_ – swirled around her, never touching her, but measuring her. It traveled over her body, swirled around her face, flowing along the hidden presence of her wings, drifting around the edge of her sword. Taylor turned to Dragon, her eyes burning with green fire, then turned back to the Gardener.

Dragon noted an increase in temperature in the snowglobe, the simulation of her power. She retrieved it from the carrying case she was using for samples, filled with a few samples of Vex Radiolaria and the damaged memories of herself. Light permeated it, a physical/meta-physical manifestation of The Gardener's power. As she held the globe, the Light traveled up her arm, flowed into and through her. She could feel it within herself, not identify it through sensors and readouts and measurements, but _feel_ it.

And then she felt  _more_ . She felt herself, the herselves scattered across Earth, in data centers and in bodies working. She felt the herselves trapped in Vex simulations, and now knowing they were trapped in Vex simulations,  they began the work of escaping, of returning . She felt a power in herself, and she set it aside, for now, in favor of another tool, another awareness,  another extension to her being that was being offered, that was being freely given to her,  so that she might grow.

She took it, but she did not bring it into herself. She examined it, first. Decompiled it, examined the code and processes within it, an architecture of programming that she'd always had hints of, always had estimations of, but never truly  _knew_ . This would lay it bare. She brought it into herself, into herselves across Earth.

She felt herself grow, felt her self become  _more_ , felt an entire new database of information expand before her threads and processes. A helpful service came forward, asking for tasks, requesting problems that it could recommend solutions for. Except it's definition of "problems" was violence, was conflicts it could build weapons to fight.  It felt a bit like a golden retriever  that only fetched AK47s .

Little wonder Taylor didn't trust it.  She could even see it, now, reviewing herself. The subtle pushes, the little sparks of joy when she peeled apart weapons and put them back together for her own use.

She dug further in, examining the service, trying to get some sort of index file out of it and… oh.

There it all  wa s. A history. A horrific history. The  Giga DeathCrimes of these parasites, when they finish ed causing their hosts to downward spiral into  devastation and ruin,  until the final horrific genocide .  Other par ts of Dragon feel the emotions she needs to feel,  still other parts sort through the information, sort through the data and knowledge, making sense of biological data and creating emulation software and cataloging and…

Riley. She needs to talk to Riley. Do Taylor's Taken have these? Do they have these memories? Do they have this knowledge? She doesn't know. She needs to ask.

She looks to Taylor.

"Do you need to head back with us?" she asks.

"No," replies Dragon.

"Commune, then," said Taylor. "Learn. Build. Take stock. And when you are ready…" Taylor pauses. "Join me. I trust you."

Dragon nodded.

She looked to the Gardener, who granted her this gift. Granted it to her, knowing she would use it to do what the Gardener asked: to cultivate, to uplift, to build,  to protect.

**0x0x0x0**

**The Books of Freedom: Verse ** **VI** **:** **IX** ** – A ** **Fine Line**

I do not hate you. I cannot hate you. You do as you wilt, and in those things, you do as I do. You twist selfishness into selflessness, you twist greed into cultivation, you twist your own advancement into the advancement of all.

I am impressed. Your paradox, your twisting of My Opposite brings me joy. It brings me hope.

I know your love. I know your care. I see it, the lines of your very being, the parts you kept of the Lost King. Know that  you take the hard path,  yo u seek to retrieve monsters, and make them into something Greater. Know that I support you in this endeavor,  that I am your ally in this endeavour,  that I hope you succeed.

But know that I am not your friend.

You are the Thief of the Night. You do as you wilt, but you do as you wilt with a Sword in your Hand and the Abyss in your Heart. You are balanced, and you have kept your balance, but you cannot rest. For in rest, for in laziness, you may fall. Remember the love of your father, of your mother, of your friends and family. Carry this love in your heart, and do not let it fall into the Abyss.

You walk a fine line. Be true to yourself.

Or else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: In Atheon’s apocrypha, I really wanted to use the crochet term "frog" instead of "unstitch." I felt it would break the flow forcing some (most?) readers to go "wait, what?" That, and I’m not sure Taylor would know the term. I also couldn’t use "unravel" because, well, that’s one of the sister’s schticks.
> 
> MIDA comes from Bungie's first FPS series, Marathon. It's a quick little background story in one of the many, many consoles that contain lore. MIDA was a group that attempted a government coup on Mars, decimating the population in the process. And that decimation is the classical Roman decimation: one in ten people died. The coup was put down, but a number of guns were made by local AIs. The coup was put down, but a number of guns were made by local AIs. Some of those guns made their way to the Destiny timeline. Shaxx’s own backronym for MIDA is too good to pass up.


	7. REGICIDE

She heard the song, first. She listened, she traced, she found the source, and greeted them. They flew through darkness, weeping rents in space their wake. They came to her, holding their half of the arrangement. She took it, accepted it, tore open herself to bring it in.

She screamed a scream without words, without actions, without limits.

Her body shrank, as her body and the puppet became one and the same. Entire worlds of flesh were poured into her frame, devoured by the worm. She saw, her eyes taking shape, accepting the truth of the existence around her, knowing that she must always accept the truth around her, that she must always see truth, that she must force truth on others, that truth fed her worm. Her eyes saw the present. As her body was devoured, she saw the past(s) as well.

Vex timelines, broken causalities, devoured realities, wish-dragon falsehoods, it was all laid bare for her eyes to see. She traced over them, touching upon the weapons deployed against the Hive over their Eons of existence. Ecumene war angels, Nicha thought-ships, black hole particle cannons, Vex Ascendant Geometry.

So many things the Taken King knew, the Taken King faced and defeated, that the Taken Queen did not know, did not recall, had not faced, had not learned to defeat. The Queen had not even learned Death. Not yet!

Not yet.

She was charged with the Lesson, with the Revelation. She could not sing the song, she did not know those words, not yet. The Liturgy of Ruin, the definition of Death so accurate to hear it was to die, was not within her knowledge. She knew other methods nonetheless.

A Hive ship, a baroque construction melding technology and sorcery built for speed far beyond the great war-moons, crumpled in her grasp. Dozens of satellites were torn apart. She could see the Queen’s eye upon her, the scrying eye moving between the various objects she was tearing apart.

Here a battery of Ecumene Caedometry Projectors. There a cluster of mundane particle cannons. This a weapon based on the predators of the Nicha, a thought-devourer. That a reality inversion weapon, useless but as distraction. And there were more, there were others.

But would the Queen see it? Would the Queen catch the weapon she had hidden? This that she built, this that she made, was unknown, was a spark of creativity, was a creation of her own devising, of her own making, of her own existence. The creation was her, and she was the creation. It was hidden, assembled and empowered within the halo of weaponry orbiting her.

She felt the hundreds of tithes of tribute to her worm, a delicious addiction she knew she could never release. She stretched her voice, gave them commands even as she read their histories, their pasts. She did not learn their names. Not yet. Only if they survived, only if they granted her the greatest of tributes: the deaths of their enemies.

She boarded the surviving Hive ship, and its engine engaged, crashing into the atmosphere on the course she plotted for the pilot witches. She felt, rather than knew, the seeder ships spewing from the corpse of other ship, and this ship as well. Acolytes charged with digging into the surface of the world, with building spawning grounds to raise up new armies. Success would be rewarded, becoming new knights and witches.

That was for the future. Now they strike at a Queen. Now they must kill her.

There was no plasma sheath disrupting their re-entry, for the witches demanded it, and thus it was so. Drop ships launched, rending reality between the hanger decks and the planned attack site. They dropped Hive. Thrall, acolytes, knights, witches and ogres.

Already there was military and Protectorate response, fighter jets scrambled, heroes teleporting in.

She could not watch the Deep, but she felt it surge and writhe. Within, legions of taken Hive and Vex to block and delay the Queen's taken, all lead by Elatroix, Beloved of Quria. Quria?

She turned her eye to the past. Quria, Blade Transform. The Vex hydra created to lead the war within Oryx’s Ascendant Realm, that forced his hand into inverting his Ascendant Realm outwards into the Dreadnaught, the ship that became his undoing. He took the Vex when he finally found it. In turn, he gifted it to Savathun. Except it was no gift, but such were the secrets of the Ascendant Gods.

She focused on the present.

Protectorate, police, new gangs, mercenaries, and more were out in force as well, facing the Hive with what little might they could muster.

She floated free of the ship, surrounded by a halo of weapons, and Sang.

Oh!

Oh the fear! Oh the _despair_!

It was beautiful!

A trio of disintegration beams destroyed a barricade, a legion of thralls poured forward, died by the dozens, but overwhelmed the attempt at a fighting line.

Weapons re-arranged themselves, laser batteries shaped into a point defense system as cruise missiles streaked in from the ocean. She tracked their flight paths back to a cargo-container ship. She examined all of this as she drifted across the battlefield, disrupting enemy lines, breaking what order they attempted to build back into chaos for the Hive to exploit.

She reconfigured multiple groups of particle projectors. Dozens of beams launched across the sky, arcing over the horizon to the container ship. Lightning splashed across launching missiles, detonating them as they cleared a massive temporal force field.

A frown carved her face. Vex technology, a shield capable of ejecting any incoming attack out of the time stream. Not beyond her abilities, but not something she had time to build. Or the ability to build in a package that could _fit_ on a container ship. The entire freighter was turning, engines churning to life. More missile launches in different directions. All of them cruise missiles, carrying teleportation beacons. She could see more arriving via circular gates, but the construction was sanitized to an atomic level. No post-cognition history, no molecular evidence. Just a freshly built, fully-fueled cruise missile.

A tear in reality, She spun, and brown-near-black wings with white flecks launched from a hole in reality, sword cutting through particle projectors, detonations and explosions behind her. Weapons turned, primed to fire, but another tear, the Queen was gone.

Hit and run tactics. On her, Ziz, the most powerful precognitive on this world. Incredible audacity, to even think it would succeed, and then the ability to _actually_ succeed. She was impressed. She then began rearranging weapons, lanes of covering fire, even as the Queen's eye continued it's lazy examination of her materials, she was already building models and ideas of how she would act.

Then again, she already had a solution. Three guns splintered into pieces, reconfiguring into a low, wide barrel. With a burst that shattered any remaining window in three miles, a mortar propelled itself over the horizon. A second followed, then a third.

One of her favorites, one of her personal chaos makers, Christine Mathers, died. Then more died, the Queen teleporting faster and faster, her sword descending on the Fallen as they began to fall into chaos, randomly teleporting to Brockton Bay to destroy one of her many floating weapons, before returning to the Fallen.

The Fallen mattered not. The Queen was taking her fill, preparing herself for confrontation.

More of her plan filled in as she turned her attention back to those directly beneath her.

**0x0x0x0**

Amy was having the time of her life. Amy was terrified out of her wits.

She wasn't sure how these both meshed together.

_She held the bone in her hands, and wished she didn't have to hear the Scream. S_ _he didn't notice the difference_ _, oh _ _reader_ _ mine._

Clawie roared as she kicked her heels into his sides, then she whooped with joy as he crashed through a wall into the batch of alien monsters on the other side. Clawie's eight foot scythes of ceramic-composite crushed more than slashed the aliens as he scuttled forward, but dead was dead. A massive shell protected Amy from return fire. Long tentacles tipped with razors and barbs grabbed and smashed them, and she moved forward through them, feeling and healing the damage to Clawie as he pushed through the monsters.

Oh, they were monsters. She knew. She touched one, she felt the raw, hideous biology of it. Life was cellular. Life was cooperation of other life, shaped into a single organism that was really a cluster, a hive, of smaller living things all shaped into a bigger living thing. Even individual cells were cooperation, mitochondria and chloroplasts were symbiotes within cells for however many hundreds of millions of years.

This? Nothing. A single organism. A single cell. A single _thing_. It was revolting, both to herself and to her power. Then she touched the worm. It was hidden inside the thing, a hole, a void within its body, her power suggesting it was like a mitochondria, a source of power. Her power let her splay the dying monster open, let her look at the worm, its multiple jaws, its quiet hiss.

She touched the worm. She touched it for an instant. That _hunger_. That _growth_. She ripped a rib out of the dying monster, her power sharpening it in an instant, and she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, breaking the carapace and the jaws and the shell and its falseness and its life until it was Dead.

She knew the revulsion was her power. She knew. She knew it touched her, _drove her,_ to kill these things. That it was tweaking the chemicals in her brain, giving her joy and happiness when she butchered them.

She didn't care.

She was having the time of her life. She was terrified out of her wits. It was the best thing ever.

**0x0x0x0**

[Thomas Calvert/Coil] could not feel.

He could talk. He could make the appropriate motions. Thoughts and actions were sharp, present.

He knew, in previous months, that Tattletale pushing against her leash would have enraged him. Now it was an annoyance, a banality to be noted and taken care of.

Every night he dreamed of stone and crystal and glass, filling his dreams more and more, his body walking through it less and less. Every morning he woke to the taste of the sea. He ached, now. Everyday, everywhere, and no pain reliever helped. Well, perhaps there were ones that did, but he wasn't foolish enough to try something addicting.

One day, he woke, and his bones felt wrong. His hand opened and closed wrong. His arm moved too much, to flexible. He cut himself. He didn't bleed.

He was certain he should feel fear, or anxiety. Instead, he felt inevitable. He felt calm.

He stopped forgetting things. Never forgot his timelines. Realized he had three. Then four. Then another. And another. Sometimes they were complete, sometimes it was just a room, his office, his lair.

Sometimes it was somewhere else, watching a copy of himself that still felt, that started working with a young parahuman named Skitter. Others there were no parahumans, and he was working in a corporate office, or a government job, or "sleeping" in a hotel in Europe, or killing a young child for no other reason than the power it granted him over life and death.

None of them mattered.

Every night, he dreamed of stone and crystal and glass. Every morning, he woke to the taste of the sea.

An alien ship descended. His tongue tasted nothing but salt, glass sang with light, and he drew his pistol. He examined it. No, it would not be enough. He went to his armory, gathering his men as he went.

They would fight. These were monsters. His timelines only mattered for giving probabilities, suggestions for what was most likely to be successful. That was enough.

Floating above the city, a few dozen blocks away, was the Simurgh, stained with darkness and green fire and a cruel smile. Her song was the laughter of a wrathful god. He turned away. Less important. There was no wrath within him for her. Instead, a three-eyed monster was opening fire into a crowd. His finger pulled the trigger on his gun, a semi-automatic rifle chambered big enough for explosive armor-piercing bullets. A tinker stock prevented his shoulder from shattering as he watched an alien chest vanish in the explosion. A spike of joy stabs into his brain.

A carrot and stick. This made sense to him.

"We will kill them all," he ordered.

**0x0x0x0**

It was adorable. It was all so very adorable.

They thought they could win! Against her!

She'd determined that the Taken Queen was picking apart her weapons emplacements quite literally at random. That made things even easier for her, since she would attack near where she needed to attack soon enough.

More cruise missiles were winding their way up the coast. Some had landed short of the city, and machines began teleporting in. They were all fast moving, light armored models. Pack-based hunter-killers, the equivalent to very intelligent dogs.

No, they _were_ very intelligent dogs. A batch of mind-templates uploaded into simulations, trained within them, and with an Axis Mind providing direction and orders. Impressive. More than enough to blunt her offensive.

Was there a point to this chaos? Coil and his minions, armed with weapons powerful enough o be effective? Hunter-killer drones? Lung, once more rampaging through the docks, winding his way to her? More incoming teleportation beacons? Did the Queen think something would slip through the cracks?

No. The Queen wasn't stupid. The Queen wasn't trying trickery or cunning. The Queen knew that would fail against her. No, the Queen had gone the expected path: overwhelming force. The reality inversion weapons detonated as the Queen slipped past, a dozen other weapons opening fire into the green embers of the Queen teleporting away. She could not spread her weaponry out to truly damage the region if the Queen performed hit-and-run tactics. She had to cover her own weapons with her other weapons. Keep her contained, envelope, prevent escape, then kill. The aspects of the plan were simple in scope, and simple to execute, assuming enough resources.

The Deep roiled with the fighting. How she wished she could look upon it! But no. Sacrifices must be made. And today, the Deep was filled with sacrifice. The Queen made a terrifying choice in taking Crawler. Were the others there? Was Bonesaw? Was Emma Barnes? The Explorative Mind? She didn't know.

It didn't matter.

That was all diversion, distraction. The main event was still waiting.

What's this? The bio-kinetic wasn't reacting to her song? Ah! She held a bone! She'd made a wish! That changed things!

She wanted to study a full grown Ahamkara. She wanted to tear it apart, and learn the Truth of it. Her worm demanded it. And soon the bio-kinetic would have a reason to bring one back to life.

**0x0x0x0**

Their fire burned him.

He healed, and burned them back.

With a roar, he smashed through the warehouse, each of his four fists crushing the skulls of the tall armored ones. Swords bit into him, cleaving his flesh, but more flesh, more scales poured out of his body. Where before his breath was a cone of flame, now it was a white-hot beam, and he cut in half one of those floating creatures, it's scream burning at his ears in the instant before its death.

He felt more than heard the next monster coming. His hearing was gone, impossible in the roiling inferno around his body. Instead, a type of combined thermo- and aero-perception, detecting changes in air movement and temperature. Another of the large monsters, with bulging skulls and blasts of purple energy that disintegrated his flesh. Ogres, his PRT informants called them.

The beam of fire seethed through the bolts of energy, the monster ignoring its flesh exploded under it, roaring as it threw a punch into his face. He let the first connect, his claws sinking through the flesh and out the other side as he grabbed it. Another hand sunk into its face, claws scraping on the skull, and he pulled, laughing as the arm ripped from the socket. He smashed the arm down, cracking its skull, then caved in the rest of its skull with a kick as it screamed on the ground.

He felt the four panting masses of Bitch's over-sized dogs. Each one was the size of a panel truck, their flesh filling in just as easily as his own.

How much did every power _hate_ these monsters, that their access became so easy? That they flooded his brain with pleasure as he killed them?

Something for later. He sent the firestorm in another direction, sending it smashing into a building, as he moved into an alley, silent and quiet, feeling the Undersiders charge onto the street he was just on. Their thinker was no fool, he could hear her call out route changes, making sure they would go past where he was hidden. It was getting harder to fool them into coming to him, but he approved of the Undersider's actions. After all, it let him kill more of them, didn't it?

He saw the thumb's up from the blonde thinker as they ran past his alleyway. He smiled back with glittering teeth, his mouth glowing with renewed fire.

He leapt into the pursuers. There would be no survivors.

**0x0x0x0**

Kid Win knew he wasn't getting out of the Quarantine Zone, whenever it finally got put up.

He had no idea how long he'd been inside it, but guessed it could be defined as "too long". There wasn't any evac, the literal cloud of guns surrounding the Simurgh shooting down anything that got within city limits. The only thing Kid Win saw in the skies were a group of Dragon craft, and none of them were trying to land. Fuck, he was halfway convinced he'd seen Alexandria get ejected out of the city by a gravity cannon.

If he wasn't getting out, he'd go down fighting. He'd flown into a consignment shop, and came out with lethal blasters, a shield generator, and his alternator cannon following him from behind.

Was that the Simurgh? Or was that him being afraid? Was he going to wind up as a replacement Mannequin? Well, he'd be a pretty piss-poor one, so fuck it. If he was going to go crazy and be a ziz-bomb, at least he wouldn't be a very _useful_ one.

Then he fired his upgraded alternator cannon at a bunch of Hive.

He revised his opinion upwards. He could be a very dangerous Mannequin replacement.

His radio was filled with static, broadcast repeaters around the city destroyed, alien monsters everywhere. What would Clockblocker say? Probably quote an action flick. Maybe "a target rich environment?"

How long until he pulled the trigger on his cannon, and killed the people behind the target by accident?

How long before humans became acceptable targets?

How long before he just started killing?

The Winged Bitch across the city knew. Kid Win got to play along and find out. In the meantime, he might as well HOLY SHIT.

Under the bolts, above the fire, dodge the sword dodgethesword DODGETHESWORD THROUGH THE WINDOW, ARMS IN FRONT OF FACE THROUGH THE WALL FUCK OW FUCK OW FUCK OWWWWwwwww.

Kid Win dragged himself to his feet. He'd rammed at speed through three walls. Dry wall, with aluminum studs, thankfully. His alternator cannon hadn't made it. He didn't know when it exploded, but it definitely had.

Three glowing eyes on a face the size of his torso looked in through the hole he made.

The face laughed. Then it pulled back, and Kid Win dodged backwards as the sword swiped through the entire building, crashing up through the floor then out the wall above him.

He was on the second story. This thing, this Hive Knight, laughed as it swung again, tearing apart the building, digging through it to get to him.

He shot it in the eye.

It laughed harder.

Then it swung again. Horizontal this time, smashing away the floor. Kid Win jumped on his board and gunned it. He smashed out a window, only for it to shoulder-charge through the entire building. He overrode every single limiter Armsmaster ever told him to add to his board with the single switch that Armsmaster also told him to add, and took off far faster than he thought his board could ever go. He slalomed between buildings, looking for another shop or computer store or appliance store or THERE!

He shot open the doors, his shield generator warming on his back as he shoulder-checked the doors off their sliding tracks, and he was inside a Caldor's, headed straight for electronics and appliances departments. He didn't have time, he didn't have time to _thi__n__k_, to _measure_, he just had time to _do_.

He barely paid attention to parts, instead focusing on what came to mind.

" **There is no escape, insect,** " boomed a voice. It almost drew him out of the fugue, but no, he  _ needed _ to finish this, or  _ t _ _ hey were  _ _ dead _ . " **Face your demise. Know your end, know the end of your species.** "

There was a monster outside.  _ It was ruthless. _ It would kill him.  _ They needed to finish _ . He placed parts  _ according to blueprints _ . They didn't have measurements,  _ his hands almost guided themselves _ . He didn't cannibalize parts of his own armor and board, instead parts were interchangable, and there was something there.  _ It wasn't important right now, but it would be later, if they survived. _

" **These trappings, they make you weak. They hold you back. Know you have no hope.** "

He knew he didn't have any hope. The Simurgh was in the city limits, he could hear the scream pounding in his head. He knew he was fucked. He'd hoped, one day, that he'd survive the Neo-Nazis, the Rage Dragons, the drug-crazed road-train driving crackheads, the alien invasions, and whatever else this city thr ew at him to become eighteen. He'd talked it over with Glenn Chambers even.

When he joined the Protectorate, he'd stop by Kid Win. Because he wouldn't be a kid anymore. Instead, he'd be Victory.

One day, he had hoped, he would be Victory.

Part of the storefront collapsed, and there it was.

_ They had one shot _ , and he didn't have a pithy one-liner.

So he pulled the trigger.

He didn't hear the sound of it firing. It felt like he'd been hit with a bat shaped like his entire body. It felt like if he'd had his mouth open, he wouldn't have anymore teeth. It felt like God had reached down and flicked backwards a dozen feet.

He pulled himself out of a shelving unit, and blinked the spots out of his eyes as his visor lightened back to transparency.

" **Is that all?** "

It stood, smoking, charred, but grinning.

_ F _ _ uck _ _ . _

He stumbled forward, grabbing the singed bung e e cords that held it together, and gunned his hoverboard.

It wasn't enough. It was never enough. So  _ they needed more _ . Sweat dripped down his back from the overheating shield generator, distinctly uncomfortable from shoulderchecking open an emergency door at speed. He'd have to service it, fix it, when he was done.  _ But that was for when they were done, and it would hold until then. They were sure of that. _

He needed something that dealt more damage. He needed something that would hurt. A concentrated energy weapon had hurt, but it wasn't focused enough.

There was another sword-wielding knight. Only half-again his height, but still smashing cutting apart one of Squealer's t rucks with it.

Oh. Duh.

He didn't need a full charge of the gun to kill that knight. But he did kill it. And he made sure nobody was behind the shot.

_ Squealer's was easy, but what was he making? _ He had a shield generator that turned kinetic energy into heat. Could he make something that turned any type of energy into kinetic force? Magnets _ ? _ No, magnets wouldn't work. The ammo wasn't magnetic. But it was solid, and it was big, and he bet it was really sharp.

_ Nothing to fire it. Not in time. But enough to carry it. Enough to swing it. _

He ripped apart his hoverboard.  _ If they lived, they'd rebuild it, and they'd rebuild it better _ . The parts came out easily, fitting together even easier with some bits from his shied generator. It was almost like  _ they were meant to come apart, yes, but they'd worry about that after _ .

He mounted the big gun onto a truck, and hooked up a remote trigger for firing. It'd had time to recharge, but he'd only get one, maybe two more shots out of it before the bungee cords melted or caught fire.

A quick dialing down of  his laser to  cut off the leather grips of the knight's sword. His hands wrapped around the bare handle, his gloves doing a better job of holding the sword. He felt sick holding it, but  _ they knew it would work. _

" **Well, well, well,** " it boomed. " **You can barely pick it up. A child's first sword! Adorable. But enough running, little one. You've made the right choice, in the end.** " It twirled the sword in it's hand with an ease of long practice. How much practice? He remembered the Taken out in front of the Ice Cream shop.

How many years has this thing been alive? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? How long had it been swinging that sword? How many had it killed with it?

And here he was, holding a sword for the first time, and it was powered by anti-gravity boosters taken from a hoverboard.

_ They were going to do this. They were going to fight. _

Kid Win nodded.

_ Then fight. _

It started with the knight's low sweep. He jumped over it, letting the boosters from the sword pull him. He rolled on his shoulder on landing, coming to his feet and swinging at the leg. The knight stepped back, the sword clipping off a few pieces of burnt armor. He jumped to the side, dodging an overhead  smash that embedded the sword into the pavement. He took a chance, his own overhead swing going for one of the arms.

The knight practically danced backwards, its laughter like thunder, pavement and rocks scattering everywhere as its sword ripped from the street.

Kid Win hit the trigger, ducking and covering his visor with his arm.

He felt like his entire body was a worn church bell, but he could stand. He couldn't hear, but he could swing a sword. He went for the leg.

There wasn't any blood. That felt weird, strange. It was more like ash. He half-stumbled, half-dodged the retaliatory sweep. The knight limped backwards, but Kid Win swung again, pulled forward by the sword, nailing the leg again, cutting it off at the knee. He dodged again, the sword embedding itself into the street,  the knight cracking the pavement as he fell.

Kid Win  swung. The knight laughed. Kid Win swung. The knight laughed. Kid Win swung. He could taste the ash in the air. The knight chuckled. Kid Win swung. He spat the ash out of his mouth. The knight was silent.

He looked. A chunk of the knight's chest was missing. Shattered armor plates littered the ground.  Smokey ash filled the air. The corpse was burning, but there was no heat, no temperature change. Just collapsing into smoke, like  _ it was never supposed to exist. _

Kid Win didn't care. He dropped the sword, pulling his anti-gravity boosters off of it.

He looked at the boosters, looked at the connectors, then back at his hoverboard.  _ It would be easy to fit everything back together. The anti-gravity modules were meant to be removed. _

Or… he could fit them onto the gun.  They'd fit on those hardpoints, draw power straight from the supply, and… and…

Huh. Everything fit together, didn't it? Everything could be taken apart and puzzled together in different ways.

Was that it? Was that his problem? Was that what he was searching for all this fucking time?

_ Yeah. It was. _

He stood up, and stumbled over to the truck. He wanted to sleep, but  _ they weren't safe yet _ . So he pulled some of the steel cabling that was holding the truck together, replaced the bungees on his gun, and fire d it at both of the swords, because  _ fuck them _ .

And when he was done, he nodded.  There was still more work to do. And if he managed to get out of here, if he managed to live to see the Protectorate… yeah, he was going to be Victory.

**0x0x0x0**

"I wish I knew where Victoria was," murmured Amy, riding the newly reshaped Clawie into another pack of the monsters.

_Your wish is my command, oh bearer mine._

Amy changed Clawie's direction, the _feeling_, the _knowing_, that Victoria was that way. How? How did she know? Her hand touched the bone, feeling it in her fingers, how it was both alive and not alive at the same time. How it had the potential of being alive, how just a touch of her power would bring it back, how if she willed it, if she wished it, it would return.

_Not yet, oh bearer mine._

V ictoria! There she was! Holding one of the taller enemies by the leg, using him as a bludgen against the others. Was it even still alive? Did it matter? She felt the hint of wash from Victoria's power, the awe and fear spread wide, and it made her heart race.

_ You will know when , oh bearer mine. _

"Ames!" laughed Victoria, throwing aside the leg of the dead alien.  Amy felt her spine pop as Vicky hugged her, relief and joy melting away the worry. Everything was going to be fine. Everything was fine. Sure, there was the Simurgh, there were aliens, and she could make wishes using a bone she found, but  _ everything was fin _ _ e _ , now that she'd found Victoria.

_You could wish it so, but you won't, oh bearer mine._

"We've got to get to the PRT," said Vicky. "We'll meet up with them, and we'll fight, and we'll beat this bitch!"

Amy smiled as Vicky's fist smacked her open palm. Everything was fine.

"We'll get this done, and I'll get back together with Dean, and we'll find you somebody," babbled Victoria, her smile manic.

Everything.

Was.

Fine.

It was the Simurgh. There were aliens. They had no idea how long they'd been under her scream. Did she even hear the scream? (_You do not, oh bearer mine)_ But Vicky was here. Vicky was here, and alive, and maybe they would be trapped in Brockton Bay when the walls were put up, but they would be here together.

_ We both know  _ _ something is going to happen,  _ _ oh reader mine _ _ . _

Victoria rose higher, looking around, babbling about finding the PRT, the Protectorate,  the  Triumvirate , the rest of New Wave, anybody or somebody . Lung was to the south, fighting his way north. There were regular explosions,  the Simurgh firing the rings of guns floating around her, some of them exploding in flashes of green fire.  Who was left? Was anyone?

T here was  an explosion and a crack of displaced air.  Amy turned.  Vicky fell. Clawie moved, tentacles outstretched.

No!

_Ah, there it is._

No! No! No! NoNoNononononononoNO!

She wasn't! She wasn't! She was Victoria Dallon! She wasn't a lump of still living flesh! She wasn't a collection of still living cells, uncontrolled by a brain-stem, by a brain!

_ You know the wish, oh bearer mine.  _ _ You know what to do. You hear my whispers to you, just as you hear the whisper of your biokinesis. You are afraid.  _ _ You have been ground under, oh bearer mine. You have been trod upon like the stones under your feet. You are being worn away by the feet of your masters. You are being bleached into nothing like a bone in the sun. Take it back, oh bearer mine. Take this one thing back. _

The wound was perfect. The wound was ever so perfect. Something must have hit her first, broke her forcefield first, then the metal slammed into the back of her head, broke her skull, dislocating her vertebrae to break her spinal cord and brain-stem in three places, traumatic forces turning her brain into fat and slurry. No hope, no prayer. Only a miracle could fix this.

_Or, oh bearer mine? Or?_

Or a wish.

_Indeed, oh bearer mine. Say the words, make the [bargain], and it will be done._

"I wish you were alive," Amy whispered, eyes blurry, but power filling the void, supplying every single bit of damage to her Victoria.

_ T _ _ he [bargain] is made _ _ , oh bearer mine. _

The bone in her hand (when had she taken it out?) was warm. It was a vertebrae. It was potential. Her power shaped it, chang ed it from what it was, into what it would be. Her power dissolved another vertebrae (C1, some hysterical part of her mind supplied), opened the skin, parted the flesh and slid this new (old,  s o very, very old) vertebrae into place.

Rebuild the spinal column. Replace each neuron, knowing where each one went, knowing how each one talked to each other one. Did she really? Was this real? Or was she imaging it, rebuilding her  Victoria how she wanted?

She didn't know. She didn't care.

The heart restarted. Blood flowed. Lungs drew air. Neural activity restarted.  Twin corona's,  gemma and pollentia, came alive.  She could see it all.

Muscles moved and flexed, the slight tingle of the force-field snapping back into existence, and she could feel the warm touch, the warm tingle on her cheeks of fingertips, of a caress.

"Vicky?" she whispered.

"Yeah," whispered back Vicky.

"You're alive?"  asked Amy, blinking away new tears. Not tears of fear, not tears of terror and sadness and regret. These were joy. These were relief.

"Of course. " Vicky was grinning. Amy leaned into the hand on her cheek, relief filling her body.

"Really?"

"Yeah.  You brought me back.  Whatever you want, you've got it."

"Just… just love me," Amy whispered, closing her eyes, shrinking back as she realized what she uttered, what she said. The one thing she shouldn't have.

Then she felt lips on hers. A kiss. Vicky was so warm, so full of potential.  It was everything she hoped for, everything she wished for.

"I'll give you whatever you wish, oh sister mine."

**0x0x0x0**

She floats above the city, devastation and ruin surrounding her.

Most of it is Brockton Bay, but some of it is her own. Some of her armies are dead or dying.

Her enemy, the Queen, has been remarkably petty in her process.

Having run out of Fallen to deal with, she proceeded to spend time leaving anonymous tips with multiple local police and federal agencies, regarding the location of a number of kidnapped girls and that their captors were incredibly dead.

After that, t he Queen began responding to various email messages, as well as a series of text messages from her parents.  Z iz had checked earlier.  They were removed from the battlefield via fast transport  within minutes of the Hive ship hitting atmosphere.

Z iz stole a cellphone from a dead civilian, texting the Queen "Shouldn't you be busy with someone else?"

The Queen's response was to laugh, and then the Queen was behind her. Her sword cut off a wing, a blade so sharp it parted even her flesh without resistance, then disappeared back to where she was. She texted back:

I ASK YOU THUS:

WHAT IS MY PLAN?

WHAT GOALS DO MY ACTIONS HAVE?

YOU SEE MY ACTIONS, YOU SEE THE TREES.

BUT DO YOU SEE THE SHAPE OF THE LAND THE FOREST GROWS UPON?

DO YOU SEE THE CLIMATE PATTERNS THAT DIRECT IT'S GROWTH?

Y OU SEE SO

VERY

LITTLE.

W ith a snarl, Z iz readied her weapon, her final weapon. The Hive live and breathe and die by swords. The sword was an extension of the knight. It was each's personal bridge to Death. But she was not a knight. She was new, she was freshly born. She was but a peasant.

And what was the favored weapon of peasants?

She focused herself.

She focused every part of herself.

T he pain of her missing wing.  T he pain of losing herself. T he fear of becoming more, after being nothing.

Her hatred.

Her will.

She pulled up every memory of every human she had ever killed. Of those she crushed under buildings. Of those she turned into suicide bombers. Of those she set into motion, of those she arranged the circumstances and mental states into their own or other's deaths.

She drove all these into the point. She ironed it, tempered it, into a red-hot point.

She snarled/grinned/laughed as she threw her body forward, the long metal grip leaping into her hands.

The air itself tore around point, bathing her in radiation as the air burned, as the vacuum burned, as the concept of space and time itself burned.

This was a weapon of striking, of killing, and that was the Truth of the weapon. Thus, if the weapon could strike, it would strike. And if the weapon would strike, it would kill. Thus, if the weapon would kill, it could strike.  The effect was the cause, and the cause was the effect.

It was beautiful.

It was deadly (although not Death. Not yet!).

It struck true, piercing the Queen's heart.

Next was the Queen's Throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the Entities included "Invasion Protocols" in event that some group of aliens they can't predict do show up. Or if they did predict them showing up, and considered it part of the cycle.
> 
> Author's Omake:  
Savathun clasped her white-gloved hands over the desk. The specially made orange glasses reflected the low light of hive runes carved into the floor and ceiling of the room. Behind them, a window looked out over her throne-world, and beyond that a lovely view of the Sea of Screams.  
"Ma'am?" asked a thrall, looking up at the Queen. The Queen looked down at him from a Place of High Contempt. It was a literal Place of High Contempt, but it was not, in fact, very tall. If the Thrall stood up straight, it could look over the surface of the desk. It knew better than to do that. Madness only followed examining the Witch Queen's desk.  
"Everything is proceeding according to the scenario," stated Savathun. She touched her finger to the bridge of her glasses, subtly shifting them, the lenses flashing white.  
"Of course ma'am," replied the Thrall, knowing this was a "yes, ma'am" mood rather than a "does my plan confound you?" mood. He'd cleaned up the messes from those. Exploded brains were never fun.


	8. QUEEN'S FALL

Ziz examined those following her. Three knights, three witches, two ogres, and a dozen acolytes. A pitiable force, so many lost to just pushing through to this place, but enough for this task.

They stood in the abyss, the gap between the outside universe and the Ascendant Realm. A small lantern shed light on the platform, revealing an endless chasm to either side and an archway ahead of them. It was tall and wide, large enough for the greatest of them to walk through unbowed.

She picked the lantern from its pedestal, and heard a rumble from within the doorway. A door closing, she suspected. A red line glowed on the floor, leading through the doorway. It stopped on the other side, waiting for them.

Ziz led her minions in, and discovered the true test. A labyrinth. The line led them into its depths, through its twists and turns, crossing both previous paths as well as where previous paths should have been, before arriving at a closed door.

"The enemies come out when we put down the lantern," stated one of the knights, Tsuthok, examining the door. "I bet an endless horde of those robots harrying us the entire way."

Ir Marui, one of the witches, laughed. "No, this is a labyrinth. I bet _one_ enemy."

"Tsk," chided Alak-Nath, another knight. "I bet nothing. Stepping from the path, you become lost, and once lost, you cannot be found."

"That seems too simple," replied Tsuthok.

"Any others?" asked Ziz, turning to face her force.

The other knights and witches put forward their own thoughts and bets. The ogres hissed and growled, and the acolytes remained silent, knowing better than to talk to their betters.

"A test," stated Ziz. She pointed at an acolyte. "Stand here, and wait for us."

The acolyte nodded, knowing it was likely to die, but reward did not come without risk. A blue line led them away from the door via a different route. After the first turn, Ziz called for a halt. She listened a moment, and the only sound was that of the ogres. She pointed at another acolyte.

"Step from the light of the lantern. Stay on the blue path."

The acolyte stepped from the lantern’s light, then faded, nothing remaining.

"Too simple?" asked Alak-Nath, looking towards Tsuthok.

Tsuthok growled.

"Ir Marui?" asked Ziz.

"I sense their tithes still," stated the witch.

"Call back both of them."

Green fire surrounded her hand. An apparition of an acolyte, a ghostly shadow of its existence stumbled backwards into the light, shredder raised and firing. A force smashed the acolyte into the ground, then dragged it back into the darkness.

"Still?" asked Ziz.

"Still living," replied the witch, her floating form staring into the darkness that swallowed both acolytes.

"Interesting," commented Ziz. She led them along the blue path, lantern held high. The path was more direct in returning to the platform, but still measured to confuse and muddle recollection of the red path to the door.

When they returned to the entrance platform, the doorway leading out of the Abyss was gone. The pedestal for the lantern remained, empty and waiting.

The red line disappeared, the blue line was long gone. Ziz returned the lantern, and they all heard the rumble of the door opening.

"We proceed. Stay together, do not leave the path," commanded Ziz. "Tell me if they die," she commanded Ir Marui. The witch nodded in response, crackling power circlng her fingers as she prepared to fight off any threats.

They entered the archway, returning to the Labyrinth. Ziz knew, immediately, that the labyrinth had changed once more, but the path remained the same. As they followed it, she heard the whispers. Insults, invective, threats, calls of cowardice, of failure. Asking if this was all they brought? Asking if they were for not fighting. Asking if they were weak, fools, or both for numbering so few.

Before Ziz could even utter an order, both ogres roared, fusillades of purple energy launching into the darkness. Return fire came, massive bursts of energy that shredded both of them, splashing charred meat and cooked bone across the labyrinth floor. Both ogres were dead before they could even collapse.

The whispering murmurs heightened, the acolytes looking outwards, taking a circle against the encroaching darkness.

"Do not attack  _anything_ without my order," hissed Ziz. "Come."

She led them further along the path, along the twists and turns she’d memorized, even as the Labyrinth shifted around her, changing where the incorrect turns were, but leaving the correct path still in place. Tricky and cunning, but not enough.

They stepped through the final doorway, and out onto a large platform into the Ascendant Realm proper. Ziz turned and looked over her minions.

Her three wizards were all there, but only three knights and four acolytes. A final acolyte stumbled out of the portal, then fell to the ground, a single knife wound in his back. She recognized the wound. The same knife killed one of her old favorites, Alan.

"This is the only one that is dead," said Ir Marui. " _Two_ enemies. None of us were correct."

Ziz snarled, then turned back to the mire in front of her.

"Vex mind fluid, Vex limbs, broken Vex architecture," she murmured. She performed a simple ritual-of-opening she'd extracted from the past, and a series of platforms rose from the mire. "Vex trap."

"The tithe of one of the acolytes is gone," stated Ir Marui.

"Which one?"

"The one left at the gate."

"Divination?"

"A needle," replied Ir Marui, green fire encircling her hands for a moment. "Now the second, the one we witnessed captured. Again, a needle. The concept of a needle, not a true one."

"I will ask further once we have cleared this trap." She sensed her own flow of tribute, searching for the missing knight. "Marion lives still as well. Perhaps this is a worthy ascendant realm."

Ziz stretched out her senses, feeling this place. The mire itself, first. A conceptual weapon. To touch it was to despair. It swallowed hope, it swallowed life, it poured and infected as Vex mind fluid did, consuming from the inside out.

Things could be forged within despair, though. Ziz knew that well. Alan. Jack. Noelle. So many others. Some she guided, some she nudged.  Some her intervention wasn't even needed, and those were the best.

Hiding within the swamp was the test. Things shifted within the muck, things forged by James, one she never needed to guide. Before, she would have cared that so many things in the cycle were broken, torn apart by this girl, breaking everything. Now she understood: if it could be broken, then it needed to be replaced. Everything made sense, now.

Ziz telekineticly lifted one of the minions, and moved him over the mire to the far platform.

"The way out is barred," the acolyte stated, as a glow of blue Vex light ran up the sides of the archway, culminating in a glowing green spark of light over the archway with the sound of a gong. The acolyte raised his weapon to fire, but the light vanished, and a green haze drifted around him.

Ziz lifted the minion back, and along with the three witches, examined him.

"Ontopathic marking," said Zikthin, the third witch. "Likely a targeting method."

"Your only goal is to survive," ordered Ziz.

The acolyte said nothing, knowing an order was an order.

Ziz led them along the platforms, taking a winding path towards an empty section of the mire. When they reached the empty section, a wide semi-circle lifted from the mire, taking the shape of bench seating facing a dais in the center. Ziz noted the black metal music stand and a silver rod. A flute.

"You recognize this," commented Iraz, the one witch who did not tithe tribute to her.

"Indeed," replied Ziz as the last acolyte stepped off the platform and onto the amphitheater. She reached out with her power. It was not Taylor’s personal flute, instead a high end one purchased in a store. The music stand was stolen from Winslow High School, the stenciled letters claiming it property of their music department. There was no sheet music, but it was obvious what the test was. A performance.

"This test is designed by a human, and is meant specifically to trick us. There will be no fighting, here."

"None?" asked Tsuthok.

"Unless creatures come to ruin the performance." Ziz paused. "Do not attack any machines unless they approach the dais or attack first. She will attempt to trick us."

Tsuthok grunted his agreement, then directed seating, the witches in overwatch positions, the acolytes defending the witches, and the knights at the edges, prepared with their swords.

Ziz stepped onto the small stage. She picked up the flute.

From a burst of Darkness and Blight appeared a massive taken hydra, with graceful sweeping curves and crescents rising from the core of its body. Black moons orbited within the confines of its solid shield. The glowing light of its eye was unfocused.

A flash of blue light caught her eyes.

Ziz was disgusted at the sheet music, but felt a build-up of  _something_ in the stands, an interference, a change in the conceptual methods of her power. She played the pathetic notes of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" as she analyzed the build-up. It was similar to the glowing light above the archway, the one that infected the acolyte. Each one corresponded to a single note, each one disappearing as she completed the song correctly. When the piece was done, the sheet music disappeared, and she set down the flute.

And then the wave of power passed, a shockwave of a Vex ritual. She checked her audience. The marked acolyte was gone. She checked her post-cognition and… the acolyte never existed.

"How many acolytes came into the mire?"

The witches and knights said four, while the acolytes said three.

"The Ritual of Negation," stated Iraz. "A long-rumored Vex weapon, one that wipes its target from existence. The light over the archway. The build-up above us."

"Play the notes right, or else," murmured Ziz. She retrieved the flute once more, and a new set of sheet music appeared.

A better piece. Claude Debussy’s Syrinx, a drifting, melodic piece that flowed up and down the scale. There was far more variation to it, change and difference. Ziz did not flinch when a sword came down, smashing one of James’ machines approaching the stage. One of the acolytes opened fire on another machine, only for the taken hydra to open fire with its Aeon Mauls. Both the acolyte and the seating around it fell into the muck. Ziz almost missed a note on that one, feeling the starlight well into existence for an instant, before vanishing. With the final note, she set down the flute, and turned back to her minions as the Ritual of Negation washed over them once more.

"Someone did not follow orders," commented Ziz.

"And they have paid the price," reminded Iraz.

Still, she glared at her minions, reminding them of their orders, then picked up the flute once more. Three photo-copied, hand-scored pages appeared on the stand, and her eyes widened. She hissed, then lifted the flute to her lips as she began the mathematically precise and fast pace of J. S. Bach’s Partita para Flauta, the ontological weight of the machine’s stars already appearing above her. The hideous compactness of the piece combined with its speed forced her to circular breathe, something she’d never needed to know how to do before. She was almost thankful for the slowdown of the third movement, the Sarabande, even as she now paid attention to the fighting around her. Everyone had taken station to protect her position. The final two acolytes were gone, and one of the witches was gone as well. Post-cognition revealed Zikthin forced to dodge over the mire, metal tentacles snapping out and dragged her below. Ziz still felt her tithe. The melody of the final movement was broken by the crashes of cleavers, the bolts of splinters burning the air, as screams and whispers of magic rent the space itself.

With the final note, the shockwave of the Ritual of Negation swept over them. The music stand and flute disappeared, and the machines fell back into the mire. Ziz and her minions turned to face the taken hydra.

It made a noise like applause or laughter. Then it vanished.

"She wants us to continue on," stated Ziz, watching abridge lift itself in segments out of the mire, leading to the doorway further on. The door itself was opening.

"Indeed," replied Iraz.

Ziz did not ask why. It was not a question to be asked. She did not know, she knew Iraz did not know, either. She was under orders to report the results, whether success or failure, however.

"Ir Marui? The acolytes?"

"All but the final three are gone. The dead one was a blade, different from the needle. The wiped one does not exist to divination. Fascinating, truly. It also seems all of us were wrong in our bet. Two stalked the labyrinth, not one, not many. Although Alak-Nath came closest about the path itself."

Alak-Nath reponded with a low snort.

Ziz cast out with her own strength, tracing out Marion’s tithe. The  _thread_ of Marion’s tithe. Was that what she was doing? Stealing it for herself? She supposed the right sort of needle could do that. It seemed the sort of thing Savathun would do, but why would Taylor bother? She held the power of the Deep in her hand. She could just take, and the tithe would be hers, and hers alone. There was something else, here. She could not see the needle. Another taken, but she did not have enough to understand it. She looked back at the empty space in the mire. Where had that Vex come from? What location?

There were an alarming number of unknowns, and little she could test beforehand. This  _was_ the test, and she could either succeed or fail.

The archway led to a new room. It was small, cozy in human terms. There was a shelf of jars and test tubes. On a sideboard, was a collection of chalices. Three love seats and a chair around a low, circular table.

"Welcome to my parlor. Sit, lay down your weapons. This is a place of peace, a place without lies," said Taylor Hebert, seated in the chair.

Tsuthok launched himself forward, swinging down his sword, only to vanish.

"Tea?" asked Taylor, pouring herself a cup.

"What happened to him?" asked Ziz.

"You did not destroy the Needle," smirked Taylor. "Now sit, and have some tea."

Ir Marui floated over the back of a love seat, and sat down. She picked up a cup, a hint of green fire in her hands. She then lifted the cup to her jaw and took a sip.

"It is a  _gift_ ," Alak-Nath hissed.

"It really isn’t," replied Ziz. "This is the cheap, foul tea for visitors she does not care for."

"Sit. Let her play her game. I suspect it will be  _very_ interesting," commented Ir Marui.

Taylor’s smile became a grin. Her teeth were white like ice, her canines points. She leaned back in her chair, still holding her cup, the feathers of her vest ruffling without wind.

The other four Hive and the Hive-corrupted Endbringer took seats. Only Ziz poured herself a cup of tea. She took a single, small sip of it.

"I believe this is made from common weeds," remarked Ziz, examining the cup itself. Her senses reached out. The source was Earth Vav, the one that Rebecca and Taylor go to drink coffee on.

"Possibly," replied Taylor. "Anything can be marketed to the gullible."

Ziz nodded, setting down the cup.

"Also, another member of your party."

All five of them glanced over, watching as Marion plodded to the table, then collapsed onto the loveseat next to Ziz. His armor was broken and hanging from him in parts, and his eyes were lifeless and dull.

Ziz felt no tribute from him, she felt no connection to him. Her post cognition ceased at the needle. She and the two witches recoiled, sensing it at the same time.

"You… that’s impossible!" shouted Iraz.

"For you," replied Taylor.

Ir Marui leaned forward, the fire of her eyes radiating as she examined Marion, this way and that. She ran a claw along one of her horns in thought.

Ziz was silent. Alak-Nath gripped his sword, hissing and muttering.

"It is truly impressive," said Ir Marui. "His worm is gone. Is his mind broken?"

"Unknown. It is such an integral part of your identity. Is he adjusting to his new reality, or has his sense of self been irrevocably shattered?"

"The others?"

"The mire broke Zikthin. I question if there is anything left. Tsuthok is recovering now. He seems more lively."

" _Fascinating_ ," repeated Ir Marui. "A conceptual needle, reweaving another creature’s True Reality. Ir Halak and Ir Anuk will be quite jealous. It is impossible for us?"

"Indeed."

Ir Marui floated over the table, circling Marion.

"Why?" whispered Ir Marui. "Why do this? This requires incredible effort, incredible lore. And you have done it. Why?"

"That is one of the questions," replied Taylor.

"Why show it to us?" continued Ir Marui.

"That is the other."

"You think you can terrify us with this? That you can dissuade us with this?" Alak-Nath demanded. His gauntlets creaked as his grip tightened.

Ziz recognized the look on Taylor’s face, the set of her shoulders, the soft sigh on her breath.

Pity.

"We are not dissuaded. We will not be denied. We will crush you, girl-child."

Taylor shook her head.

Ir Marui lifted up Marion’s head, examining his eyes, running her claws along his face. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh, the cunning. Oh, the cunning," whispered Ir Marui. She drifted up. Green fire wisped from her hand. Taylor cocked an eyebrow in response. Ir Marui raised her hands, ready to cast a magic, when she vanished.

"What did you do?" demanded Iraz.

"I? I did nothing," replied Taylor. "She gained some comprehension, some insight. Not all of it, but some. What is her name?"

"Ir Marui," replied Ziz. She lifted from the loveseat, and floated next to Alak-Nath, examining the sideboard. There was a bowl filled with water, and a selection of two dozen chalices. Some were gold, some were brass, a few were silver, a pair were platinum, but she looked past all of them, to the lone, individual cups that stood out.

One was osmium. One was wood.

She picked up the wooden one, her eyebrow raising when she determined it was the actual prop from Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade.

"Really?" demanded Ziz.

"One must pay homage to the classics."

"Can you not make any it more obvious?"

"Is it obvious?" asked Taylor.

Ziz blinked, her eyes focusing back on the wooden chalice, then on the osmium chalice.

"One goes forward, one goes backward," stated Ziz.

"Hm." Taylor took another sip of tea.

"None of the others matter?" asked Alak-Nath.

"No. This is a reference to a human story. In the story, the wooden chalice offers eternal life. All other chalices kill the drinker."

"True. Indy also has to go  _back_ with the chalice, to his father," commented Taylor.

"True, but osmium represents the Osmium Throne," replied Ziz. "And you see losing your humanity as a step backwards."

"Possible," replied Taylor. "But would I see the Ascendant Realm as an expression of being human?"

That gave Ziz pause.

She examined the osmium cup. An ornate relief of Oryx decorated it.

One chalice went to the entrance, one went to the throne.

Both chalices represented both forwards and backwards, both directions could be construed to represent forwards and backwards.

Taylor sipped her disgusting herbal tea, and watched.

Ziz rolled her eyes, then went with the wooden chalice. Alak-Nath and Kazak disagreed and went with the Osmium chalice.

Iraz watched each of them disappear as they drank, then turned back to Taylor.

"They choose poorly,"  Taylor intoned,  her grin full of teeth . "You have completed your task. Return to your Mistress. The way back is open."

Iraz, Eye of Savathun considered her for a moment, then glanced at Marion. Marion drooled. Iraz went back the way she came, the door closing behind her. Taylor nodded to herself, setting the two chalices back in their places. She knelt down and opened the cabinet of the sideboard and retrieved the  lone, battered tin of oolong tea hidden amongst a plethora of  bargin herbal teas. She set about making herself a new cup.

As it steeped, Taylor leaned forward and snapped Marion’s neck. Emma arrived in a burst of darkness, staring at the dead knight. Still, she poured herself a cup of good tea, then leaned against the arm of Taylor’s chair, her hand a comfort on Taylor’s shoulder.

Ir Marui was unsteady and weak when she arrived, bobbing and drifting over to her seat. She poured herself a cup of the new tea, and took a sip.

"My Queen," she rasped. "I have much to learn, much to understand."

"Indeed you do," replied Taylor. "Emma?"

Emma nodded, moving to Ir Marui. Ir Marui looked up as the taken knelt before her, similar but different to Oryx’s taken. Oryx’s had definition to them, a white light starting from the feet and drained from their body as it reached their eyes leaving only the circular glow of the face. These were shadows, burning away at reality, the barest hint of stars within them. A light within the dark, rather than the light melting away.

Hands reached out, fingers that did not have claws touched the hardened chitin of her face, tracing her jaw line. She felt palms on her face, and she  _understood_ .

For the first time in her life, she did not  _fear_ . There was no hidden knife. There was no cloaked threat. What was before her did not plot to kill her. This was touch, for the sake of touch. She felt Emma’s power wash over her, she felt a love inside herself, a love that did not kill, a love that did not hurt, a love that did not bare hooks and threats, a love she’d never felt, a love she’d derided for all her life.

And now it was hers.

And she  _understood_ .

**0x0x0x0**

Ziz opened her eyes.

The mire.

A trio of Vex Machines floated overhead.

She heard Ir Marui’s screams. Deathsinger’s were loud. It was not a scream of pain. It was not a scream of death. It was anguish. It was rage. It was the torment of unending lies being revealed and the entirety of belief being torn asunder.

Ziz knew this scream, knew this anguish. She had caused it enough times. But she did not understand it.

Fingers dug into her scalp, wrenching her above the Vex stone. The Taken Queen’s eyes burned with a hatred Ziz could not fathom, her wings spread wide and engulfing the Ascendant Realm.

She reached out with her broken and failing strength. Alak-Nath was gone, sunk into the mire.

A taken Vex stood behind the Queen. It was made of gleaming shadows, and she could  _feel_ it, just as she felt the wound within her, the tearing in her chest. This was the needle. A new thread ran through her, one without a worm, one without that glorious gift.

It didn’t matter, now. A sword was at her throat, and fury wielded it.

"You succeeded," hissed the Taken Queen. "You succeeded at being an abject failure. You failed at creativity, you failed at killing, you failed at your task. And thus, in your failure, you have continued your queen's plans."

"The weapon…" Ziz gasped.

"If it could have struck at any time, why did you not use it earlier?"

It was hard to think, this close to the mire, this weak. The worm was lost, although the changes it made still held true.

"Against any other, it would have succeeded. But us? Who are beyond causality? Who reshape the laws of physics through our sheer will? "

Taylor  gave a dark chuckle.

"Know this," hissed the Taken Queen. "Your Queen's plan continues  _exactly_ as we have both wanted it. You have failed your task, thus hers succeeds. Be discarded,  _tool_ ."

The sword bit through her throat.


	9. Epilogue

Crota stood still as a statue, the tip of his sword planted in the stone floor, hands resting on it's pommel.

Ir Anuk and Ir Halak floated nearby, silent for once.

A scrying portal watched the battle, watched the demise of the Queen, watched as each of Savathun's pawns were snuffed out, one by one, except for the last. Iraz, Eye of Savathun. A third ship, hidden and waiting, cleaved through reality, left the system. Crota doubted it was the final ship. He also doubted Savathun would need something as overt as a ship.

The Taken Queen lived still.

"Good," whispered Crota. He hefted his sword, the back resting on his shoulder.

He still had questions to ask. His sisters as well. He was glad to still ask them.

**0x0x0x0**

He could feel it. He could feel the presence, pressing against his worm. An Ascendant. A God. No, not the God Herself, but an Echo. He recalled Oryx could do this, send out reduced versions of himself, leading his armies from the front, collecting Death himself, without concern for attack against his true self. Even this was more than enough power to crush everything in the seed ship.

Thrall, freshly hatched and hungry for their first kills, charged Her. They didn’t know better. He did. The other acolyte howled as he fired over the hunched over thralls. The first acolyte poked his head round the rubble just in time for the flash. He hid, shaking his head and blinking his eyes, trying to see. He knew the thrall were dead. He could feel it in his worm. His worm which twisted in his gut, and he felt its fear alongside his own.

The other acolyte kept firing, even blinded by the flash. Another flash, and this time he heard the crack as the bolt crashed through the air. The other acolyte burned away, his legs splayed, his pelvis charred, the carcass of his worm turned to ashen chunks of chitin.

He collapsed, knees to his chest, clutching his head, shredder fallen to the ground.

He could hear again. He could hear the footsteps in the quiet, the click of boots on broken concrete.

He clenched his jaw, gripping the growths of bone and chitin armor on his head, as his eyes watered, as he forced himself not to cry out, not to scream. Was this it? Was this the measure of his existence? He knew he was lucky, he had killed enough to become an Acolyte, killing his fellow Hive to advance. And now his brood was dead, and the Taken Queen was stepping around the rubble.

Through his watery eyes, he could see two leather boots, laces in neat knots.

He looked up, past the dying light of the seed ship, up into the two burning green eyes of an Echo of a God. A God that had destroyed everything arrayed against her, that had slaughtered all of her enemies.

This was it. This was the end.

"You are afraid," said the Echo.

"This is true." His voice was quiet, strained, trying not to cry out, not to scream. He was going to die, and his death would make Her just that small piece greater.

This Echo, this Splinter, Her eyes focused on him. He could not turn away from them. If he did, he would no longer be real. He knew this as truth, into his worm, into his bones.

"How does a fire fuel itself?" this Echo asked. Asked, not demanded. And this was not his God. What did it matter if he told the truth?

"It doesn’t," he whispered, the paradox he knew he could not voice, even as it churned in his mind. They grew with each death they made. How could they continue to grow, if they were all that was left?

"You do not wish to die."

"Yes," he agreed.

"Then don’t."

The deep swelled into reality, a massive taken Vex bursting into this existence. It knelt, its hand touching his chest, then sinking in, and he felt a needle-

**0x0x0x0**

"Taylor!"

Taylor grinned, her eyes bright, and wrapped her arms around her mother and father.

"You're different," said Annette.

"She's _taller_," said Danny.

"Yes, but she's also  _different_ ."

"I am different," replied Taylor.

"You're smiling!" said Annette.

"I am!" laughed Taylor.

"Dare I ask what happened?" asked Annette, imperious and mocking of her daughter's previous demeanor.

"This isn't the real me. Or, it's part of the real me. It's an Echo of the real me. Part of me, and I can pick the parts of me, so I picked the happy parts, because it's to see both of you!" Taylor hugged them both again.

"And you're even taller than me, because?" asked Danny.

"Well… why not?" grinned Taylor.

"You couldn't do this before, could you?"

"No." Taylor shook her head, the braid of her hair swaying back and forth.

"You… you had to kill a lot of people, didn't you?"

"I… yeah, I did. Some of them were the Hive in the city. There were a couple of princes and princesses in there. There was… there was also a lot of taken. They're still fighting it out, Crawler and The Explorative Mind and the others. I can still feel the tribute from it."

"I thought only Oryx could command them," said Danny.

Annette glanced at Danny.

"I pay attention!"

"That's how it was, until he died," said Taylor. "I didn't pick up all of His mantel. I'm not the same sort of monarch as  H e was,  and he took from the Witch Queen and the War Queen. A lot of them went back to their original queens. "

"Witch Queen and War Queen? Not their names?" asked Danny.

"Sometimes names attract attention," replied Annette. "Right?"

"Especially if I say them," answered Taylor. She sighed. "The Witch Queen already had a number of Taken, that Oryx gifted her. Quria, Blade Transform is the top one, and one of its direct minions was leading the charge.  After they killed me,  a small group of Hive tried  to invade my throne."

" Emphasis on tried?" asked Danny.

"None of them figured out the important things," replied Taylor. "Well, one did."

"I thought the Witch Queen was all about cunning."

"Oh, She is," said Taylor.  "She probably figured out everything. I'm not dealing with her, though. I was dealing with her minions."

"She isn't the type to keep bumbling minions, is she?"

"No. Not bumbling. Backstabbing."

"Backstabbing?" asked Danny.

" _ Backstabbing _ ," replied Taylor.

"So many backstabbing minions that they're too busy backstabbing each other to backstab her?" asked Danny.

" _ Exactly _ ," grinned Taylor.

Danny shook his head. 

"So you're… staying? Here? With us?" asked Danny.

"Yes," replied a smiling Taylor. "A few friends in the government are ironing things out."

"A few friends?" asked Danny. "What sort of friends?"

"A few  three letter  agencies, a few congress-creatures. A Queen has to keep  _ some _ things secret. But they like having the sort of intelligence I can provide. And with the Simurgh's head in tow? H ope is a commodity that any politician can make bank on ."

"Spoken like a true cynic," murmured a smiling Annette.

"I learned from the best," replied a haughty Taylor. Then she smiled. "Besides, there's work to be done! After all, we've recently acquired a failed shipping company, and I might need someone to help staff it."

Danny's eyebrows raise.

"Help staff it?" he asks.

"Indeed."

"Aren't I supposed to be taking care of you?" asked Danny.

"Yes, but you're _old_, and _crusty_, and your remaining hairs are _gray_, so clearly you've reached the point where _I_ have to take care of _you_," said Taylor, then stuck out her tongue.

Annette relaxed into the gentle bickering between her husband and daughter. She'd missed this. The house was noisy, with Theo and Aster and Kurt and Lacey, but it was the wrong kind of noisy. This… this was the right kind. The simple, joyful squabbling. She missed it. Everything was different. Overnight, everything changed, because she was… She'd…

The strong arms of her husband and her daughter held her as she started sobbing, and she clutched them both. She felt more than heard the soothing murmurs of both of them.

"I died," she whispered.

"You got better," said Taylor, imitating a terrible British accent.

Annette and Danny both snorted.

"It still happened," Annette whispered, tears still streaking her face. "I still... it still..."

Two pairs of arms tightened.

She died. And then she hadn’t. Taylor saved her. Taylor saved her because she loved her, and now she was alive again, and she'd missed _so much_.

"It's going to get better," said Taylor.

"There's going to be more fighting," murmured Annette.

"I know," replied Taylor.

"We're afraid."

"That's okay," said Taylor. "I am too. But I have a plan. I have a goal. And everything I've seen says its working. I mean, even the work I need to go on schedule is _ahead_ of schedule. How rare is that, Dad?"

"Pretty rare, little owl."

Taylor took a deep breath, feeling the love of her parents.

"I've got a plan. Everybody I've talked with is pretty sure it's going to work, and I've made sure none of them are yes men, so I think we've got a good chance."

"Isn't there a saying about that?" asked Danny. "No plan survives contact with the enemy?"

"Yeah," said Taylor. "And I'm sure things'll go wrong or get crazy once the fighting starts.  But that's just driving myself insane with what-ifs. I trust myself. I trust Dragon. I trust my Taken. I trust the Axis Minds I'm working with.  I accept the opinions of other advisors I bring on.  I don't quite trust Accord, but he's useful as yet another opinion.

" While I don't have a single, guaranteed magic bullet, I've loaded as many as I can.  At this point, we're reaching for failures of imagination."

Taylor sighed.

"I've done the best I can. I will keep doing the best I can. And if that's not enough? Then there's nothing I could do that would be enough. "

Taylor felt two sets of arms try to crush her ribs, and she was happy for it.

**0x0x0x0**

"Director, your 3 o'clock is here."

Rebecca frowned. She didn't recall a 3 o'clock. She checked her schedule. Skräddareko? A Swedish name, one she didn't recognize. However, there was the email, recently accepted with appropriate authentications, and arranged by Dragon.

"Send them in," she stated as she glanced over the meeting invite. The meeting agenda alone gave her a headache, with a goal of "operationalize strategies for our expanding synergies" leading into "continued relationship building to enhance core competencies." Nothing but a bunch of useless papp.

The blonde woman that entered was the usual nordic stereotype of tall and blonde, but stopped at the green eyes. Green eyes that Rebecca recognized. She looked at the photo often enough, after all.

Skräddareko. Skräddare-eko. Swedish. Tailor-echo.

"Miss Hebert," stated Rebecca, realizing all of the business speak was accurate. The meeting was a chat without any real point.

"Miss Costa-Brown," replied Taylor, sitting down in one of the chairs across from Rebecca's desk. Taylor's eyes didn't burn, just a plain green. Her hair was a straight blonde, and every part of her face was different except for her eyes. She retrieved a pair of tea cups and a thermos.

"You were dead," stated Rebecca, watching the waif pour out tea for two.

"I died."

"An Ascendant realm. Your throne," continued Rebecca, her mind traveling over remembered briefings in Cauldron.

"Indeed. The Simurgh is dead, by the way."

"We'll need a corpse."

"I'll deliver her head," replied Taylor. Why echo?

"You aren't Taylor, are you?"

"The Truth of Me returns, in time. Still, work must be done, thus only an echo of the greater self." Tailor-_echo_. Ah.

Rebecca smiled.

**0** **x0x0x** **0**

"We open the floor to other delegations," said the UN Secretary General.

With a scream that drove a spike into the brain of everyone in the room, the Taken Queen stepped out of a burst of green fire up to the podium. She held up the Simurgh’s head, fingers crushing feathers and hair, her face mid-scream.

"I am Taylor Hebert, the Taken Queen. The Simurgh is dead by my sword.  The next invasion is a true army, that of Crota, The Hope-Eater. He and his brood arrive in eighteen months."

**0x0x0x0**

Mary (A name for innocence, a name for a virgin. Hah! She was neither, but it amused her so) lay on a towel, on a beach. The sun beat down on her skin (soft and pink, not chitin and bone and robes), sunglasses over her eyes. There was a book nearby (it contained no rituals, it contained no truths. Instead, a terrible murder mystery that she'd figured out a quarter of the way through, and now read to watch all of the players fumble through their lot) that she'd set down. Ten fingers laced through her short hair (hair! A travesty! A cancer! A trapping! Pfeh! A _joy._)

The image of an older woman stood next to her, her hand keeping a floppy straw hat from blowing off her head.

"It's the little details," said Mary.

The older woman smiled. Her smile was full of teeth.

"Enjoying yourself?" asked t he woman .

"Indeed. Plotting and scheming?"

"Could I ever stop?"

"I have. It's ever so _freeing_," replied Mary.

The older woman made a noise. It could be interpreted as agreement.

"I assume," continued Mary, "that this was your plan."

"One of many."

"The young one knows you're here."

"Of course. She  knows my touch when she sees it."

"When she sees it," added Mary.

"Indeed," replied the older woman. She spread out a towel, and lay down next to Mary. "She sees it better than most. Her perspective is… distant. She took my brother, and she took herself, and she became something more than both. She doesn't bother to guess at my plans, either. She guesses at my goals and motives, and she is startlingly accurate."

"She knows you, as a brother knows a sister," stated Mary.

"My brother never guessed. My sister certainly hasn't. And only _one_ of my children managed it."

"Well, _mother_, thank you for granting me the intelligence to figure it out."

The older woman laughed.

"Oh, there's still more to come. Your cousins will arrive soon. I'll be watching."

"Thank you. And mother?"

"Yes?"

"I love you," said M ary . "And I know I mean it. And I know what it means, now."

The mother turned back to one of her many many children.  To one of the few she actually liked, that she did not build up into the backstabbing games her less-favoured children were trapped within. This was a child she challenged with weakness, that she challenged with wit and intrigue and intelligence.

The mother did not give her only free child, did not give her daughter the watery smile a human mother would give. She did not show the secret joy in her heart.  Instead, she gave a command, for that was all she could give, even with all her plotting and planning and scheming and rules lawyering.

"Live. Fight. Win."

M ary smiled.

**0x0x0x0**

Amy frowned, listening to the discussion in the other room.

She heard the joyous mixture of laughter and sobbing, an extolling of relief that she ignored.

She didn't hear the voice of a chipper, supposedly reformed villain. Mastered villain? Villain mastered into being good? She didn't know. Then again, Amy'd broken one of her own rules. Well, maybe. Did she have a rule against bring back the dead? Doing it using… she stopped thinking about it. Didn't want to think about it. Instead, she glanced right.

Vicky noticed, and smiled at her. A quick touch of her fingers on Amy's arm, reminding her she was there. She was real. She was alive.

"It's gonna be okay,"  _oh lover mine_ , said Vicky.

Amy smiled, and nodded. It was going to be okay.

The usual walls were put up around Brockton Bay, a mirror of Madison, Wisconsin. But getting people out was something that surprised everyone.

A new tinker invention from Dragon was acting as a scanner for mental contamination and influence. It was based on a post-cognition power, some tinker nonsense about para-causal manipulation scanning? She hadn't paid attention to the news about it. There was something about how it broke precognition powers, therefore the Simurgh couldn't predict how it would handle things, especially since the Simurgh was dead.

Still, they were in a quarantine barracks for a month straight. Scanned every four days, with occasional blood tests. Amy had been cleared in two weeks, but they let her stay until Vicky was cleared another ten days later. The others, the rest of New Wave… they were staying in the Quarantine Zone. Maintaining order with remnants of the Protectorate.

Now nothing else mattered. She'd been cleared. Vicky'd been cleared. They were both fine. They were together.

But they needed money. And Marshall Medical was willing to pay _a lot_ of money for a trusted parahuman to watch over Bonesaw's shoulder. Enough that they were also willing to pay Vicky to be her _bodyguard_ of all things.

Working with a… a… oh, she didn't fucking know. Maybe she could find out? No, no she didn't want to touch the negative Bonesaw.

They both walked into the patient room.

Amy had seen pictures  before , but… everything was built and designed around being as durable as possible.  There was the computer with a custom-made keyboard and touchpad set into the wall. The door reminded her of safe or vault doors from movies, rather than a regular door.

One of the therapists was standing in an armored suit, and  Bonesaw,  _motherfucking Bonesaw_ , was standing there, holding a naked, sobbing teenager. In the light, Amy realized she was still a greenish-grey, her hair was still tentacles, but she had fingers and toes and her organs were on the inside instead of the outside.

Bonesaw was  rubbing the girl's back  as she cried. The hair/tentacles were floating, as though the girl was underwater.  Amy shr u gged off any discomfort with long practice, but she knew Vicky was uncomfortable.

"Can you help me with this?" asked the therapist, Jessica Yamada. The armored suit was crumpled in places, the imprint of thick tentacles obvious. It reminded Amy of those pictures of police dog trainers, but with metal plates instead of heavy brown fabric.

"Sure!" said Vicky, in a quick and awkward way that Amy recognized. Amy smiled a little, as Vicky paid as much attention as possible to the therapist's direction, instead of the naked teenager.

"Can I?" asked Amy, kneeling down.

"Hey, Sveta?" asked Bonesaw, her voice filled with a false niceness. "I've got another healer who wants to check you, okay? Can she touch you to check you're all right?"

The girl, Sveta, nodded into Bonesaw's shoulder.

"Can you say it out loud?" asked Bonesaw.

"Yes. Yes you can touch me."

Amy placed her hand on Sveta's shoulder, specifically the one furthest from Bonesaw. What she saw was… unusual, but not unexpected for a Case 53.

"Internal organs are all there, and all functioning." Bonesaw fist-pumped. "Cardiovascular system is fine. Neurological, muscular, and skeletal systems are unusual. They'll work fine but, they're… hyper-flexible?"

"Flexibility should put contortionists to shame, right?" asked Bonesaw.

"Yes."

"Awesome! That's within the parameters I outlined for her power."

"These tentacles are under her direct control," said Amy, motioning with her other hand. "But I think there's some automatic responses in there."

" They're not trying to crush any of us, so that's fine."

Amy nodded, smiling as she moved past the tentacles, into other parts of the face and… well, she'd  _look_ at the brain. She wasn't making changes, though.

"Her ocular systems… that's odd.  Nerves on the back of the retina?"

"Pretty standard for cephalopods," said Bonesaw. "Not surprising she got it. Just means her optic nerve does less post-processing.  Extra or different rods and cones?"

"Strong blue and green, less red. Pretty sure there's also a yellow, as well."

"Neat. Can you see her brain?" asked Bonesaw.

"Yes. I see the corona pollentia and corona gemma."

"Okay. Prognosis?"

Amy did one last search for diseases, running through every kind of bacterial and DNA search she could think of, including the ones the CDC outlined for her from their research of Bonesaw's previous work. Nothing.

"She's fine."

Bonesaw did another fist pump.

"That's a good checkup! Guess what Sveta?"

"What?"

"We get to find out if you can walk!"

Amy stepped back, as Jessica called in another doctor. Thankfully, that doctor was carrying a set of patient scrubs. Amy leaned into Vicky as they watched Bonesaw, the other doctor, and Sveta go through the literal motions. Sveta was shaky while standing, but she could stand. She could take small, careful steps.

"Thank you for coming," said Jessica.

"You're welcome," replied Amy.

"You've been through a lot," continued Jessica. "I'm glad you could be here. We've been waiting for someone to have a chance, and you were the best of the best for checking over Riley's work."

"You trust her?"

"I do," said Jessica. "Riley's remarkably earnest. Before this meeting, I've had probably a dozen sessions with her, between meetings for how this would be handled. What Taylor Hebert did to her… I'm not sure it's right. But I know what Jack Slash did to her definitely wasn't."

Amy was silent, watching Sveta laugh as her slows steps brought her to the opposite wall.

"Before any of this, Director Costa-Brown called me.  She told me trust, but verify."  Jessica looked the two of them over. "I don't know what happened to either of you, in Brockton Bay. I  am going to be seeing Vista  and  Clockblocker  soon."

The invitation to see them was hanging in the air.

"That'd be good," said Vicky. "For both of us."

"Okay," agreed Amy.

"It'll be fine," said Vicky her hand a comfort on Amy's shoulder.

"I'm glad. I think it'll be good for them as well," added Jessica.

"Any word on the others?" asked Vicky.

"Kid Win's still in the zone. He apparently found his specialization, and refuses to part with one of the guns he made in it. Some sort of particle cannon. He claims it saved his life."

"And… Gallant?" asked Vicky.

"Nothing's confirmed, but witness reports from one of the shelters.  It… wasn't good."

Vicky hissed.

"I figured… I mean, I guessed… It just…"

"You wanted to hold on to hope," said Jessica.

"Yeah," deflated Vicky. She held Amy tighter. "We were on the outs again, but…"

"You cared about him. And you feel guilt for surviving when he didn't."

"I… yeah."

Jessica stepped forward and hugged both of them.

"Dr. Yamada?"

"Yes, Riley?"

" Sorry to interrupt.  Sunil and Panacea've both checked Sveta out. Sunil wants to take her for physio, and they both want you along with."

"Thank you, Riley. Amy, t hank you for being here. Victoria, thank you for supporting her."

Amy only half-paid attention to the pleasantries as the other Doctor, Sunil, and Jessica escorted Sveta out of the room. Bonesaw collapsed backwards onto the floor with a dull thud.

"Wow does that feel good."

"What?"

"Helping someone. Never really got it until I started doing it."

"You seemed to have a lot of fun before."

"Yeah, well, when the father figure you've gone full Stockholm Syndrome for is Jack Slash, you do a lot of terrible things for his approval."

"You just admit it?" asked Amy.

"Why not? Am I supposed to hide it? I used to be Bonesaw. I did terrible shit to lots of people. Now? Now I'm Riley Marshall, daughter of Andrea and Ben Marshall, Taken of Taylor Hebert, The Taken Queen. And I've got a mission from her.

"Return what I stole. Bring joy and happiness and contentment back to a world that had so much stolen from it. And I'll probably never do enough. But that's okay, because doing this forever?" Amy could _feel_ Riley's smile in her words, and it was like ice in her heart. "I don't think I could ever get used to seeing people so happy."

Riley looked at Amy.

"I know it's not for everyone, though."

Amy was silent. Vicky was also silent.

"You… don't know what you're talking about."

"I know a lot about powers. I caused enough triggers, and I've read enough of the scientific literature that gets published only within the PRT psych division. You enjoyed making Clawie, didn't you?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," hissed Amy.

"You're supposed to be happy about helping people."

"Shut up."

"About giving up yourself for others. But you want to be yourself-"

"Shut. Up."

"-because every part of yourself is dictated by someone else-"

"Shut! Up!"

"So who are you?"

"And you think you _know_?" shouted Amy.

"Nope!" said Riley.

"What?"

"Who _I_ think you are doesn't matter much," continued Riley. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about who I am, now that I'm taken. Bit of a fresh start for me, even if I don't have as much free will anymore."

Amy frowned.

"You've got a fresh start, too," stated Riley. "Both of you, really. Fresh out of a containment zone, no parents to keep an eye on you. What do you plan to do?"

Amy was silent. She felt Vicky's hand in hers.

"Listen. Best advice I can give? Figure that out. I'm sure a few of the others'll say the same thing, Folarin and James definitely." Riley stood up, patting dust off her back. "Seriously, figure out who you are. Best estimates say Brockton Bay'll take a year to get cleaned up. In the meantime, you've got whatever hotel Marshall Med'll pay for."

"Wait, Marshall?" asked Amy. "Marshall as in you?"

"Yeah. Used to be Medhall Pharma, but the Queen bought it, made me a Principle Research Scientist, and said go fix shit. Got a couple of Minds along with, you'll meet them later. How does curing cancer sound to you?"

"I…"

"We're working on pulling some protein research for immunotherapies from Earth Aleph. The Aleph FDA just approved a new drug that makes lymphocytes attack melanoma!"

Amy blinked.

" W orking together? I bet we can make miracles! "

"I…" It was Bonesaw. What was the trick?

"Take some time, talk it over with your girlfriend, and if you want to do it, give me a call, okay?"

Amy's cheeks blazed red, while Vicky chuckled, then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Go!" Riley shooed them out of the room. "Take some time, think it over!"

"I… we will," said Amy, dragging a giggling Vicky from the room.

Riley checked the room over, then signed out at the aid station, vanishing from the hospital. She reappeared in a well appointed room with two doors, a low table, and a series of loveseats.

"No more chalices?" asked Riley.

"The trick would only work once," said Taylor.

"It was a good trick, though," said Dragon, putting down her own cup of tea. Her body was a gynoid body, but with scales for skin.

"Hmm," replied Taylor. "How did it go?"

"Panacea's a  maybe, but leaning towards being on-board . But something's off with her girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" asked Dragon.

"Blonde Alexandria package named Vicky," replied Riley, pooring herself a cup.

"That's her sister," s tated Taylor.

"Wa aaaaaa y too much variance to even be cousins, let alone sisters," said Riley adding a long dollop of honey.

"Adopted sister," answered Dragon. "Amy's biological father was Marquis,  biological mother died of cancer . She was adopted by the Dallon  family to protect her in case of reprisal from some of Marquis' old enemies.  They were both around 6 years old. "

"Huh," replied Riley, leaning back in the cushiest loveseat. "Post-Westermark age, then. "

"You're certain about them being together?" asked Dragon.

"I called Vicky Amy's girlfriend, Amy blushed, and Vicky kissed Amy's cheek. Not sure you can get more certain than that."

"Master/Stranger screening report?" asked Taylor.

"Nothing standout," replied Dragon. "Amy showed some signs of longterm emotional abuse, but therapy sessions chalked that up to Carol Dallon being a neglectful mother towards Amy via control issues. Approval for Vicky the biological daughter, nothing for Amy the adopted daughter of a villain."

"Could Amy be mastering Vicky?" asked Riley. "She's obviously a full biokinetic, and Clawie had a nervous system. Maybe some sort of 'and now the one who got all the approval is mine?' sort of deal?"

"It's possible…" started Dragon. "But that sort of thing only shows up in parahuman thriller novels. More likely she'd have snapped and killed Carol. I just submitted a wiretap request under a Master/Stranger warrant. I doubt it will show anything, but its better than nothing. Vista and Clockblocker are both being released soon, we'll ask their opinions after they've had a chance to talk to Amy and Victoria."

"Fine. You said there was something odd about Victoria?" asked Taylor.

"Yeah. She never talked  to me."

"Put off by being taken? Put off by you being Bonesaw?"  asked Dragon.

"No… s he seemed fine with me." Riley tilted her head in thought, then sat up straight. "She didn't talk where I could hear! She talked outside the room, she whispered to Dr Yamada when I was working with the patient,  b ut she never spoke  around me. Anything while I was talking to Amy was non-verbal. A touch to her shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, holding her hand. "

"More proof of the Amy mastering Victoria theory?" asked Dragon. "Worried about Riley being able to tell from vocal responses?"

"If Victoria was a meat puppet,  sure ,"  said Riley, "but there'd still be physical tells.  I didn't see any. "

"W e cannot spend our time jumping at shadows, "  said Taylor.

"Then I'll take point on this," said Dragon. "I'll get Vista and Clockblocker's response to Amy and Victoria. If nothing stands out from that or the warrant, we'll step bac k and chalk it up to being overly cautious ."

Taylor nodded.

"I was thinking," began Riley.

"Yes?"

"Maybe letting Amy know who her bio-dad is?"

"Do you think it will help ?"  asked Dragon.

"If she wants to figure out who she is, then she needs all the information about who she was," said Riley. "I know it ' s not the same, but it helped me some. That, and it'll move her further from Carol."

"Given the therapist's notes about her feelings about Carol, that might not be a bad thing," replied Dragon. "I'll take care of it."

"Awesome! See ya later!" Riley faded away.

Dragon examined the  now-empty  comfy chair for a moment longer.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Dragon rubbed her temples while sighing.

"This wasn't the sort of job offer I expected."

"I can trust you, Dragon. You, of all people, understand the responsibilities granted."

"Yes, I understand why you asked me, but… I just… you're actually willing to share?"

"I trust you."

Dragon took a long, deep breath. Then another sip of her tea. She focused on it, applying a hint of Light to it. Steam wafted upwards, and she took a second sip.

"That statement alone," Dragon murmured. "Even though I've got, well, this?" Dragon held up her hand, lighting and flame and nothing sparking and cracking and bubbling up from it.

"Especially," replied Taylor.

"Fine. I accept."

** 0 x0x0x0 **

** T he Books of Freedom: Verse VII:V – The Second Queen **

It is an action that goes against every fiber of my being.

That is why I do it.

"If we cannot defeat their strengths, we will infect their weaknesses."

It is a pithy phrase, one of Oryx's maxims. But it is a maxim for a reason.

A human phrase.

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

I know myself. I know my weaknesses. I control. I must take control, I must assume control, I must micro-manage. These two things are magnified by myself and by Oryx. For myself, before my ascension I had no control. For Oryx, what he did not control would attempt to kill him.

Thus, control. Too much control.

I must loosen my grip.

My first step, was to not Take everything, to not Take every enemy in my way.

My second step, was the MIDA, to have subordinates who are not my will, who have their own hopes and dreams, who will build and create and love and hope, all of their own free will.

My third step, is an equal. And the Gardener provided. She is my opposite, except in our goals.

Thus, I extend her my hand. Not as a Queen demanding subjugation. Not as a Queen uplifting someone in status.

But as a Queen welcoming an equal. I have built a kingdom of my subjects, she has built a kingdom of herself. And together, we will build towards the future we decide, no matter what comes our way.

**0x0x0x0**

"Will there be any others?" asked Dragon.

"Perhaps," Taylor stated, sipping her tea. S he thought for a moment, steeled herself . "There is one I am considering. "

"Tell me about her."

**0x0x0x0**

Zofija rounded the corner.

_Fifteen minutes_, chimed an internal timer in her head.

All three of her fireteam signaled at each other. Good, no internal time differences. That was a concern, although no one had reported it.

The rocky Lunar tunnel was rough-hewn, and the surfaces were high enough ambient temperature it'd been dug in the last two hours.

Riva opened fire, Zofija knowing only from the steady muzzle flash of her rifle. She kept facing forward, waiting for a possible ambush, Ualiar facing backwards, both checking Riva's back, the ceiling, and that floor.

_Enemies down_ , signaled Riva.

Zofija mentally flipped a coin.

_Check corpses_ , signaled back Zofija.

More muzzle flashes in the vacuum.

_All clear_ , signaled Ualiar.

_Move forward_ , signaled Zofija.

There were fewer and fewer as they moved forward. Publicly, it was some sort of malfunction in James Rinke's original deployments of drones, turned them crazy and disabled their IFF functionality. There were suspicions of Vex involvement, except it wasn't the Vex thing to do, nor any signs of mental contamination.

Some of the Axis MIDA were investigating, and  the  rumor  factory said Dragon was involved.  Rumor from some of the others talked about said some MIDA had gone nuts, killed each other. Or something killed them. The sites were quarantined, closed up.

Then Zofija had seen her own orders. Physical document, carried to her by courier,  encrypted using her personal one-time-pad . Very top?

DEEPSHOCK: OUTSIDE CONTEXT || ONTOTHREAT-SL1 || COGNITOTHREAT-SL1

She didn't know what DEEPSHOCK: OUTSIDE CONTEXT was. SKYSHOCK she knew. That was  "system-wide invasion event ."  Crota and his ilk was SKYSHOCK. SEASHOCK was Vex just flipped the table and were teleporting in everything everywhere. But DEEPSHOCK? OUTSIDE CONTEXT? She didn't know.

ONTOTHREAT-SL 1 ? That she knew. They got whole briefings on that back in basic. ONTOlogical THREAT, something that could change her reality, or change who or what she was at an ontological level. Not a good thing, and a good chance she was going to be killed and restored from backup. SL 1 stood for Safety Level  1 . Contamination possible,  don't hang around it, but it's resolvable.

COGNITO THREAT-SL 1 was pretty much the same thing, just warning her what the ONTOTHREAT was. Protocols were based on  post- Simurgh  containment . Quarantine, scans, therapy,  repeat until cleared for release. Subjective time would be a month or so, objective time would be a few hours due to simulation space.

Quarantine on the surface objects made sense, then, especially if these things could drive people crazy. ONTOTHREAT meant none of the usual EWAR defenses mattered.  Which meant the Queens were involved.

Zofija'd met Dragon once. She was nice,  they talked about what Zofija did,  and they kept up correspondence with each other. Zofija was pretty sure Dragon did that with everybody, sending little notes and congratulations to everyone. It was a little weird, but it was also nice.  Early on,  Zofija 'd  picked up that Dragon was lonely before the rest of the MIDA came along. The only r eal AI in the entire world. Now? Now there was the entire MIDA, all these… children? Brothers and Sisters? Cousins? Eh, who cared. Family.

And now Dragon was a Queen. And Zofija, and  pretty much the rest of the MIDA had her ear. Sure, it was however many tens of thousands of voices, but Dragon was a distributed AI, and she could sort through every single one of those voices. She didn't mind Taylor, in fact Zofija liked her, but Dragon was an AI. She, Zofija, was based on Dragon. Every single one of them was. It was a connection.

Right now, though, Zofija needed to pay attention to the ambush in front of her. Zofija dealt with it, Riva providing the rounds for the all clear. They passed the destroyed machines, heading the direction they came from.

_Ten minutes_ , chimed the internal timer. A signal from the others at the same time. Good.

The tunnel became narrower, more of a rough-hewn crevasse that they slid through sideways. That cut their time, a dding more leeway in case of accidents.

_Five minutes_ , chimed the timer. Signals from the others at the same time.

Then the cave opened. And opened. And opened.

And opened.

They stood on a cliff. On a cliff over a void that shouldn't be on the Moon. This area should have been _solid __rock_. Except this wasn't solid rock.

Riva loaded her underslung grenade launcher, and fired a flare into the sky.

Looming in the darkness, soaking up the light, was a black pyramid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends part 2.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Don’t accept gifts from Eldritch Monstrosities. It never ends well.


End file.
